I Was Right
by Earthwalk
Summary: Severus Snape's years at Hogwarts, from entrance to graduation. Not Book 5 compliant yet, if ever. Warning: Some romance with Lily.
1. First Impressions

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Her Magnificence JK Rowling, except a few minor or not-so-minor characters. 

* * *

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 1: First Impressions **

Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was not sleeping well. This was not unusual. He crept off his bed and glided across the cold, damp floor to the cupboard. Once, when he was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, he had smuggled out a small amount of Dreamless Sleep potion after an overnight stay in the hospital wing(a stroke of luck caused by Potter's beating him senseless, losing thirty points for Gryffindor along the way). 

Madam Pomfrey had ordered him to drink it, but he had poured it in one of the jars he carried in his robes instead. He analyzed the potion and thereafter brewed it for himself with all the enthusiasm of a teenage boy doing extra--not to mention illegal--work on his favorite subject. Like any other medication, the Dreamless Sleep potion had to be prescribed by a Healer under Ministry guidelines, but the insomniac sixteen-year-old simply couldn't bring himself to frequent the infirmary that often. 

Snape shook his head angrily as he opened the cupboard. With insomnia, one was neither awake nor asleep--he was half-dreaming, dredging up those schoolboy memories from long ago. Stupid, stupid. He grabbed an unlabeled jar out of the small cabinet, looking it over. 

Since adulthood his supplies had been ransacked often due to circumstances, but the searchers were always looking for stuff less innocent than a simple sleeping draught, and he had never landed in trouble for _that_. His eventual professorship made its presence even more innocent-looking, as probably a sample for teaching. 

For the love of Merlin! What was he doing, standing here freezing his feet off, clutching a jar of positively elementary potion and gloating over how it never got him in trouble? Harshly, he pulled down a cup, filled it halfway, brought it to his lips, and stopped. This stuff was addictive, he knew, and he did not want to become reliant on it. Substance addiction--that was more than he could afford at this point. It was not the kind of thing that would incriminate him with Dark Arts-related charges, but these days you never knew, you never could be too careful. 

He set down the cup, glaring at it and the jar, and Banished both to the sink with a wave of his wand, which he kept on his nightstand. 

Strangely weak suddenly, he sat down on the bed. _Severus, will you never be strong, decisive, manly!_ No, Mother, I never will be,* he answered in his head. _I am not Septimius, and never will be. Now get out of my head, you've been dead for over ten years now. And I am alive, more or less._

Maybe what he needed was the Draught of Living Death. Or maybe the Draught of Death. That wasn't funny, but he twisted his lips into a smile. 

_Potter,_ he thought suddenly. _You would never have thought these kinds of thoughts, would you? Yet you died and I lived._ Thinking about the Dreamless Sleep potion had reminded him of James Potter. He scowled deeply. As if he did not have a living reminder in front of him every day at work. 

_But who is better off, you or I? You lived a full life and when you died, you had something to die for. And I-I had a chance, too. I had a chance, at least. Was I right to throw it away?_

He lay down on the comfortless bed, and for a wonder suddenly became very drowsy and fell asleep immediately. _Wonderful,_ was his last conscious thought. _Just avoiding thoughts of Potter works like a charm. I should do this more often._   
  


***** 

The train ride was more or less uneventful, though several idiot boys had annoyed him greatly on the way. Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew-no doubt Gryffindor material, ten-year-old Severus Snape thought disgustedly, unable to think up a greater insult at the moment. After a decidedly unpleasant talk, he had not moved to another compartment, not wanting to give them the satisfaction, and had sat for the rest of the journey stonily reading a book and making the probably to-be Gryffindors uncomfortable. It was the 1943 edition of _Advanced Curses: Background and Practice_ (the last before the book was banned in 1946, for covering the Dark Arts far more than was necessary), the covers carefully bound in blank parchment. _If only they knew what it is I'm reading,_ Severus thought, smirking. He thought of all the things he could do to them as long as he could be sure of staying out of trouble. He'd prove his power and his knowledge, this was what he was here for... 

The Sorting, however, almost turned into a disaster as the Hat asked him: 

"Are you sure you don't want to be in Gryffindor? You have cunning, sure, and ambition--but there are also smoldering courage and daring. You'll find your true friends in-" 

_Don't say it!_ Severus thought furiously. He had just watched the said idiots be sorted into Gryffindor. Not going to Durmstrang with Septimius was bad enough. If he didn't even make it into Slytherin... _If you scream Gryffindor, I'll curse you into a thousand filthy, ragged pieces and burn- _

"Or maybe you do belong in Slytherin, after all," the Sorting Hat had said hastily, sounding like this was a new one. Disagreements, pleading, reasoning, yes--but threats? "Are you sure about this? There's a darkness in you, you know, your courage will be misplaced and your cunning twisted--" 

_Just say it! I can do the Slow Disintegration Curse,_ Severus snarled inwardly, panicking. It wasn't just his mother's displeasure at stake here. If the Hat took too long his House members might not take him to be a true Slytherin at all. He thought he heard the Sorting Hat chuckle. "Kid, for pure evil, though, you sure are the archetypal--SLYTHERIN!" The last word was shouted out for the Hall to hear as Severus went almost weak with relief. He stood up, took off the dirty, ragged wizard's hat with distaste, and flung it down with an angry glare. 

"I knew it! I _knew_ that slime belonged in Slytherin! Pay up, Peter!" Severus heard from the Gryffindor table as he passed near it, and recognized, without turning his head, Sirius Black's voice. They had exchanged names and handshakes, at least; that was where the civilities had ended and unpleasantries begun. 

"Man, I was dead sure he would be a Ravenclaw, with his nose stuck in a book all the way!" Exclaimed a smaller voice, belonging to the fat boy, Pettigrew. Severus swept on (hearing, almost out of earshot, "Are you crazy?! That's where the best-looking girls are, not overgrown bats like that!"), joining the Slytherin table with satisfaction. 

A fifth-year boy, short with a face like a pug and what looked like a permanent sneer on his face, stuck out his hand condescendingly. "Snape? I'm Orion Parkinson, prefect." 

Severus took his hand, saying "Pleased to meet you," with all the courtesy ingrained into him. This was, after all, a prefect. 

"I am Mei-lin Jin," came a cold, dignified voice, reminding Severus of his mother. It belonged to a girl with thick black hair and heavy lids, sitting next to another first year who introduced himself as Alan Lestrange. He had watched her being Sorted, but now that they were face to face the weight of her presence slammed into him like bricks. He felt strangely afraid of her. Here was someone he honestly didn't want to cross... 

The introductions went on. "Avery," "Travers," "Pritchard," "Rosier," "Wilkes"...many of the names were familiar to him, mostly pureblood families whose children had been in Slytherin for generations. 

Then the food appeared and the feast began. The Slytherins seemed to be chatting amiably enough, but the undercurrent was the subtle comparison of bloodlines and rivalry over influence. Delicious as the food was, Severus felt strangely tired and empty when Dumbledore shooed them all off to bed.   
  


***** 

Next day they had Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures, among others. Severus surprised Professor Baddock and his Housemates by answering every question the professor had; he hadn't stayed up nights reading banned Dark Arts books for nothing. He was later to learn that Defense Against the Dark Arts involved more than knowledge of the Dark Arts. However, it was here that he began to develop a reputation for knowing every curse that was brought up in class, and other things that clearly didn't belong on a wizarding school curriculum--not unless that school was Durmstrang Academy. 

They had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors. Severus noticed that Potter and his cronies seemed to have befriended a girl; very pretty, with vivid red hair and a clear, ready laugh. Severus scowled--his partners Rosier and Wilkes were acting like idiots, glancing the girl's way every time they had a chance and trying to act impressive. He himself paid no heed, or tried not to, for he had learned that the girl, Lily Evans, was Muggle-born. 

Finally, during Professor Kettleburn's brief absence, when Wilkes tried to show off one time too many and nearly upset the crate of flobberworms they were supposed to feed, he lost his patience and hissed in a near-whisper, "Have you no shame, Daniel? Making a fool out of yourself over that freckle-faced Mudblood Evans." 

Everyone suddenly went dead quiet. Severus realized it had happened again: Even though he spoke very low, sometimes a whole roomful of people would catch every word, somehow. He decided to make the best of it and try to garner some respect from his fellow Slytherins. 

Deliberately he put down the lettuce he had been shredding and slowly unbent to find himself looking directly into the eyes of James Potter. 

Several things happened at once; Evans put a restraining hand on Potter's shoulder as he stood up, as did nearly all the Gryffindors, and Pettigrew and Lupin cried "No, Sirius!" as a streak of robes and black hair erupted from the Gryffindor side and pinned Snape to the ground. 

Severus, startled, looked up to see Black's angry face above him. "Stinking Slytherin," Black growled. "I'll make you eat those words right this instant--" 

"Sirius, no!" Potter was at his side in an instant, trying to pull Black off. "He's not worth getting in trouble for-" 

"Get off of him!" Wilkes cried, also tugging at Black's arms, but went sprawling to the ground when Black swatted him away like a fly. 

Black had just dragged Snape to his feet, holding him by the front of his robes amid the shouts and screams from both sides and Potter still trying to make him let go, when Professor Kettleburn arrived on the scene. 

"What is going _on_ here?!" He cried, taking in the scene--all the students on their feet, several crates upturned in the confusion, and one of the boys nearly choking another. "Black, let Snape go this instant! Everybody back to their flobberworm crates!" 

Black, with an angry glower, threw Snape from him as if he had been holding something slimy and unpleasant. Snape tumbled to the ground, and let the Slytherins help him up while he glared lividly at Black. 

"I have never-" Kettleburn could barely speak from fury. "First years, on their very first school day--" 

"But that git-" Black started to shout, but was interrupted. 

"Silence! Ten points off Gryffindor, and detention, Black!" 

"Professor!" Potter did not raise his voice, but his voice carried through the uproar. "It wasn't all Sirius' fault. Snape called Lily a Mudblood." 

"A...what?" Kettleburn looked at him in surprise, then turned to Evans. "Miss Evans, is this true?" He asked sharply. 

"Yes, Professor." She seemed a little nervous, but answered steadily. "Though I don't know what it means--" 

"Snape!" The professor's tide of anger seemed to have changed directions. "Are you aware that the term--the term you used is foul, insulting, and bigoted?" 

Snape stared up at him with cold defiance, though inwardly he was a little confused. He never thought the word had that much significance--his mother, his brother, his father before he died, and the people who visited his house used that word all the time. It was just another word he used, though obviously Mudbloods themselves and Mudblood-loving Gryffindors would be mad. But Mudbloods didn't have any business here in the first place, did they? Salazar Slytherin had said so, everyone knew that. 

"Five points of Slytherin, and I want you to apologize to Evans, Snape." 

He was startled. Apologize in front of all the Slytherins? "I won't," he said sullenly. 

"What?" It was Kettleburn's turn for surprise, now. 

"I won't apologize, sir," Snape said more loudly, sensing his House members' support in their approving murmurs. 

"Well, in that case," Kettleburn said, his rage palpable now, "it's ten more points from Slytherin, and detention." 

Snape shrugged. It was better than being publicly humiliated. "Yes, sir," he replied. 

As class settled down, Snape cast a malicious glare over to the smug-looking Potter and his cronies. He'd get them for this... 

The Slytherins were silent as they went up to the castle. Then Lestrange spoke up. "It wasn't smart to speak up like that, Snape--saying the word Mudblood and all. But we're all proud of the way you stood up to Kettleburn." 

"Yeah, you really showed them!" Rosier said excitedly. 

As he walked with his Slytherin friends, talking, his ear caught voices just ahead. 

"I'm really okay, James. I have to put up with Petunia at home--I can put up with him, too." That must be Evans. 

"Petunia?" 

"My big sister. She's been simply awful since I got the letter from Hogwarts. She thinks I'm an absolute freak." 

"Never mind them," said Potter. "It's a disgusting thing to say someone is below them because of bloodlines. I mean, some of the best witches and wizards ever to come out of Hogwarts were Muggle-born or half-blood!" 

"Yeah, it's the likes of Snape who're the freaks," cut in Black. "Don't worry--Slytherins are all like that." 

"Just ignore them," said a quieter voice that Snape recalled to belong to Remus Lupin, a quiet boy with brown hair. "Which is what _you_ should have done, Sirius." 

"It was worth detention, though," said Black, "seeing that slimy git quake..." 

"Well, you shouldn't have," laughed Evans. "Thanks, though, Sirius, James. For standing up for me." 

Just then the Gryffindors moved out of earshot, and Snape tuned in again to Rosier's plans for revenge. 

That night, as he lay in bed, Severus decided that the day had gone reasonably well. No one seemed to really mind the points he lost. Purity of blood was something of an obsession in the Slytherin house from Salazar Slytherin's time, and he had played this sentiment well. 

He also knew that fierce rivalry with Gryffindor was another Slytherin tradition. They were so cocky, so close-knit...he hated them already. He was sure glad he had bullied the Hat into putting him in Slytherin. 

He had gotten into Slytherin, as he should, and he was determined to belong here. He could always find out what people wanted, and where he could hurt enemies most. By being watchful and ruthless, he could pull this off, this belonging business. 

Even if it hadn't worked on Mother. Nothing ever worked with Mother, try as he might. 

He drove the thought from his mind contemptuously and willed himself to sleep, but sleep took a long time to overtake him. 

* * *

Author's Note again: Well! Was Snape nasty enough? I didn't want him to be too OOC . Well, the Sorting scene may be absolutely improbable--I just wanted to see Snape threatening the Sorting Hat. I know, I know, I'm crazy. 


	2. Family Matters

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 2: Family Matters**

Severus Snape, third year student at Hogwarts, was starting to learn that belonging in Slytherin was uphill work. An unseen but tangible atmosphere of competition and power struggle hung in the air like the dampness in their dungeon common room. He also discovered, however, that power games were something he was very good at playing--and while he could not take active leadership, like that bully Avery, he found he could manipulate his fellow House students quite easily. He was a subtler kind of bully, a "slick, slimy, sly, sneaky git of a puppeteer," as Sirius Black, James Potter's sidekick, put it. 

Both Snape and Potter had made enemies, the worst in each other. Potter's gang and Snape loathed each other like model Gryffindors and a Slytherin, sometimes with results that landed all five of them in McGonagall's or even Dumbledore's office. Snape did stay out of trouble more than Potter and Black did, but that didn't mean he had the upper hand--even Slytherins had to admit Potter and co. had won the round when Snape found himself parading in front of the entire Great Hall in frilly, moth-eaten dress robes and a moldy (but still quite ornate) wimple. 

Consuming as these enmities were, more important things were afoot. Uneasy rumors circulated about a Dark Lord who was recruiting supporters and funding. They said this man's power, if man he was, was in Grindelwald's league. Snape and his friends--Lestrange, Jin, Avery, Rosier, and Wilkes--huddled down often to talk about him, this Lord Voldemort, with excitement and awe in their voices. 

"It's what we've all been waiting for," Mei-lin Jin declared, leaning forward in her stone chair. "Lord Voldemort is a wizard of immense power and charisma, he will purge the wizarding blood of any impurity and reward richly whoever follows him. He will give power to those who deserve it but have only too long been shunted aside!" She looked around with calm triumph in her face, a gleam in her hooded eyes. 

_Us? Shunted aside?_ Snape heard a sarcastic voice in the back of his mind, one that kept popping up all too often these days. _Sure, most of our families climbed down a notch or two for our dealings with the Dark Arts, most recently with Ol' Grindelwald,_ he thought. _Most people would think it's only what we deserve, no, far less than what we deserve, Mei-lin._ Snape squelched the voice with horror. What in the world? Was he going mental? 

"We have to redouble our study," Alan took up, he was always going along with Mei-lin. "We want to be ready when the time comes..." 

Study. Severus knew what kind of 'study' he meant. It was stuff that could get them expelled, if the Old Fool (as the gang had taken to calling Dumbledore) found out about it all. Though he tried not to let on, he knew most of the material they were going through, anyway. Yes, he would be ready. Readier than any of the others when it came to knowledge. But in mindset? He wasn't sure. Come _off_ it! He told himself angrily. 

He knew what was making him feel this way tonight. He had read a copy of The Daily Prophet lying on a table in the common room, and had seen Septimius. 

The picture and the article that went with it were both perfectly innocent. So innocent and so respectable that he knew those fools at the Ministry of Magic would never suspect a thing. 

However, he felt the presence of a shadow that was beginning to touch his life. Like Mei-lin said, this was what they'd all been waiting for, but it just wasn't the same now that it was actually happening, now that his brother... 

He stood up abruptly. "Instant Destruction curses tonight, isn't it? Excuse me this time, though. I'm not feeling well. I'll catch up later." Ha! Catch up! He knew the Instant Destruction curses by heart, dreaming of how he'd use them as he read about them under sputtering lamplight into the wee hours of the morning. 

He left the table amid the gang's "Good night"s and walked up to the dorm. As he ascended the stairs, he thought he heard Rosier say, "Reckon we ought to tell him?" and Avery replying in a dismissive voice. 

Once he had changed and washed, he took out the picture and article he had cut out of the paper. 

He went to his bed, carefully drew the curtains all the way shut, and looked at the picture again. Septimius never came home for the summer holidays and seldom for Christmas--their mother visited him, instead. Severus had not seen his brother's face for three years. 

Septimius was taller, more intimidating and intelligent-looking than Severus ever remembered. In the picture he stood shaking hands with a middle-aged wizard whose hair looked white in the black-and white photograph. Next to the middle-aged man stood a young man with the same white-looking hair and pale, pointed pictures. 

The caption to the picture said Mr. Malfoy (with son Lucius) was greeting Septimius Snape, valedictorian graduate from Durmstrang Academy, who had just returned to England after finishing his studies. 

The article was brief: It said a reception was held on December 23 to celebrate the opening of the International Society of Wizard Genealogy, which had benefited greatly from the Malfoy family's generous donations. 

Clever, Severus thought. Very clever. Genealogy, eh? He would have liked to sneer "Genealogy?" and dismiss Septimius as a hopeless bore, but he knew better. 

The Malfoys. Everyone knew the Malfoys had always had dealings with the Dark Arts--but nothing was ever definitely proved, and they were leaders in the wizarding community, upstanding and respectable wizards: For instance, they made donations to worthy causes from the immense wealth no one quite knew how they'd accumulated. 

And genealogy. Whoever was behind the founding of this Society (including Malfoy and son) could now use it to tell who was pureblooded and who was not. Also, they could just as easily find out whom to threaten with the safety of whom, the most vulnerable points for forcing submission, cooperation, or worse. 

So who was behind the Malfoys? 

Severus had a horrible feeling that he knew. The International Society of Wizard Genealogy was just one of the respectable fronts, besides being a useful information pool, for the Dark Lord's rise. He had a feeling the Malfoys' round of charity donations was just beginning. 

And Septimius was involved. This should not have come as a shock, or even a surprise, but Severus found himself deeply disturbed. This just wasn't how he imagined he would feel. Crazy forebodings rose to mind, and his sleep, when it finally washed over him, was an uneasy one.   
  


* * *

Next day they had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors. Trudging through the slushy post-Christmas snow after a none-too-restful night was not Snape's idea of fun, and Rosier, Wilkes and Avery's excited whispers got on his nerves. He didn't care what they were up to, though usually he put up with their harebrained plots. 

The day's lesson turned out to be about--harpies. _Great_, thought Severus as their screeches grated on his already sharp nerves. _It just doesn't get any better than this. _

Professor Kettleburn bravely addressed the students. "Harpies," he said rather lamely despite his efforts, waving a hand in the direction of the cages. He had been rather nervous and off-the-edge around dangerous creatures ever since a drunken yeti had thrown him clear to the castle steps. Seeing how the students edged away, he tried to reassure them. "Don't worry--the cages are locked with locking charms." 

He kept looking over his shoulder convulsively, though, at the creatures with vulture bodies and women's heads. There were three harpies, but they were sounding like thirty cats and vultures tied together in a bag. Snape noticed Potter and his gang nearing the cages, looking fascinated. Show-offs, he thought irritably, trying to shake off a headache. 

"Native to Greece, these creatures snatch food and prey on animals and humans, especially children. They obviously do not make great pets--" the professor smiled nervously--"but once tamed, they can be used to hunt animals that would otherwise be difficult to catch. But not to hunt for food: A little-known fact about harpies is that their teeth and claws are poisonous. They were also used in armies for scouting and in battle--" 

Snape saw, out of the corner of his eye, Avery exchanging startled glances with Rosier and Wilkes. He closed his own eyes. He was sick of noticing things others didn't and hearing and seeing things he wasn't supposed to. Ten years of Mother and Septimius probably had something to do with it. He'd always been on constant watch for displeasure, wishing he could please her once, just once... the headache grew to a screaming pitch. 

And then there really were screams. Human ones. 

His eyes flew open, for a split second not comprehending what they saw. A harpy was in the air, the cage that had held it gaping open. Kettleburn lay on the snow, knocked out cold. The harpy just soared for a second, as if rejoicing in newfound freedom, then remembered its instinct as a bird of prey and looked down upon the sea of humans below. One would catch her eye in particular, Snape knew. Without knowing what he was doing he rushed forward, driven by a blind urgency that had no reason and no words. 

"_Stupefy!_" He could hear Black yell, as Potter cried "_Impedimenta!_". Snape knew it would be useless--the creature was too large and magical. 

The harpy swept down, its ugly form stunningly graceful in the moment of flight. Lily Evans, calm and pale as her namesake, drew a dark-haired girl she stood with behind her her at that instant, shielding her body with her own. The screams rang in Snape's ears as he whipped out his wand just the way he had practiced so often. He raised it without the slightest idea of what he would do. He was not aware of the shrieks and cries for help; he did not feel the bodies around him falling flat in fear or jostling to get away. He did not know if the curse would work on a magical creature; he didn't even know what curse he was using, or that he was waving his wand and crying out the ancient, deadly Words. He only knew a blind urge to kill, kill this constant doubt, a shadow sweeping down on a red-gold point of light. 

"_Avada Kedavra!_" 

The harpy dropped on top of Lily, and she was separated from her friend's frail form as she was dragged heavily to the ground by its weight. 

They both just lay there for a brief moment, the creature with woman's face and the girl. Then the moment lasted for two, three, four seconds, and when Snape bent down to pull the harpy off it stumbled onto the snow, stiff and unmarked, the excitement of the hunt still etched on its face. He bent again, this time over Lily. 

He felt himself suddenly and violently pushed out of the way. He tried to get up but found that up and down no longer seemed to make sense. He just sat or lay (not knowing which) there for a second, trying to convince himself that the bruises on his shoulder and side were the only things wrong with him. _I can't lie here,_ he thought, _not in front of Potter and his cronies._

The thought brought the ground back under him, and he pulled himself in the opposite direction. He swayed dangerously, but somehow found the ground again and slid a foot against it to stop himself. And then everything came rushing back, the temporarily deprived senses, like the rushing sound he had heard only moments ago. 

The first thing he saw was Potter bending over Evans, Black standing behind him. The next thing he saw was Professor Redwood, their Herbology professor, making his way over to them, crossing the grounds with alarmed haste. 

"What has happened here?" His eyes swept over the frightened students, Potter holding a pale Evans, who seemed to have come around a little, a shaken Kettleburn just getting up with the help of two students, the harpy's dead body. Everything was relatively quiet, for the other two harpies seemed subdued, letting out small whimpering noises as they tried to reach their sister. 

Everyone started talking at once. 

"Please, sir--" 

"A harpy was turned loose--" 

"It hurt Lily--" 

"The Slytherin--" 

Redwood held up a hand. "We shall take the injured to the hospital wing first." He busily conjured stretchers, one for Kettleburn, one for Evans. "Lestrange, round up the Slytherins. Black, please do the same with Gryffindor students. Go to your respective common rooms and await further instructions. Anyone else injured?" 

The students' eyes suddenly turned to Snape. "I don't think so." Snape heard himself say. "Kaur was right behind Evans when it happened, though--" he knew this was not what people were expecting, but he didn't care to draw attention to himself. 

"I'm not hurt," The dark girl's voice was very quiet. "I saw you fall, Severus." 

Snape flinched at the use of his first name. "Only because Potter the Great bowled me over," he sneered. He whirled around and headed for the castle. He was walking very quickly, but the horror of what he had done caught up with him nonetheless. He vaguely remembered breaking into a run, pitching headfirst into the snow and shouting at his fellow Slytherins to get away from him when they tried to help him up. Next thing he knew, he was back in the common room sitting off in a corner, alone. People were talking in hushed voices, and he could feel glances coming his way. 

And then the summons came. "Gryffindor and Slytherin third years, please come to the Great Hall within ten minutes." 

He raised himself heavily. He wasn't sure whether he'd done right or wrong, but he knew he wasn't going to enjoy this little talk. 

* * *

Twenty people shuffled into the enormous Hall, the two Houses carefully ignoring each other as they entered. Professor McGonagall, head of Gyffindor, and Professor Baddock, head of Slytherin, were already there waiting for them, looking grave. Professor Redwood entered shortly, sitting down between them. 

"How are Randall and Miss Evans?" Professor McGonagall inquired. 

"Better than they seemed. Professor Kettleburn and Miss Evans suffered concussion from a fall and a rather nasty shock, but no scratches or bites, thankfully." 

There was an audible sigh of relief from the Gryffindors. 

"And now," Redwood turned to the students sternly, "I want to know exactly what happened. Miss Kaur?" 

Indira Kaur, slightly flustered to be the center of attention, nevertheless spoke calmly. "We were learning about harpies, Professors. I-I was right up front with Lily, and I could see one of them was gnawing at a bar in its cage. It looked quite sturdy, though, so I didn't pay attention--" 

Potter raised his hand. "Yes, Potter?" 

"And suddenly it came zooming out, knocking Professor Kettleburn over before he could stop it. I think it wanted to get free first, before it thought of hunting." 

Kaur shuddered. "Then it flew down on us. Lily--Lily pulled me behind her back, holding herself in front of me." She took a silent, deep breath. 

"And then?" By then she had everyone's full attention. 

"Then, the Slyth--Snape cast a spell and it fell on her like dead weight." There was a slight ring in the word 'dead.' 

There was a brief silence. Redwood cleared his throat. "Other members of the staff went out to the grounds to investigate the creature, and it was confirmed to be dead. Uninjured outwardly, it died quite a sudden death." As the silence grew even more oppressive, he asked, "And what was this spell?" 

"Avada Kedavra," whispered Pettigrew. 

Snape had no time to register the various responses to this statement, as every eye in the hall bored into him this time. He braced himself, but the question that came next was something he had not expected at all. 

"What do you know about the Rust Inducing curse and Concealment Charms, Snape?" 

"What? I believe I know both," he answered without thinking. At that moment even Wilkes could have told him to feign ignorance, but he had been caught completely off guard. 

"A bar in the cage of the dead harpy, just where the locking spell was, was completely chewed through," Redwood continued, watching Snape's face carefully. "We were puzzled--even harpies cannot chew through iron bars that way--until we noticed a Concealment Charm on that particular part of the bar. Once the charm was deleted the bar was revealed to have been rusted almost to the core--something a harpy, with the help of poison on its teeth, could work its way through." 

So was that was what Avery and his lot had been up to. Snape looked dully up at the Herbology professor, at a complete loss for words. He was in deep and hot water if Redwood thought-- 

"So, Mr. Snape, why is it that you were the first to act in an extremely short time--almost as if you knew what was going to happen?" 

Severus had been caught off guard again. Not only was he not the first to act(the Gryffindors conveniently leaving out Potter and Black's failed attempts), but Redwood's accusation was as flimsy as what he himself had against Avery and the others._ Please, Professor, I heard my roommates talking about a plan they didn't tell me about, and they looked surprised when they heard mention of harpies' poison..._ It was laughable. 

"I did not sabotage the cage, _professor,_ if that's what you are implying," he spat angrily. "You have no proof against me." 

The eyes of all present except four--Avery, Rosier, Wilkes, and Lily Evans' friend--were gazing at him with deep suspiscion now. He could have bitten his tongue after that little outburst; Great Wizards, he sounded _defensive_! 

McGonagall spoke up. "Ryder, it's true. Without evidence--" 

"Are you aware," Redwood went on as if he had not heard, "that the use of the Avada Kedavra curse is a serious crime?" His eyes were strangely cold and flint-like. He seemed almost a different person from the hearty, popular Herbology professor. 

"--When used against a fellow human being," Snape took up evenly. 

Then he shuddered involuntarily. He had looked only at the harpy's face when it lay dead on the ground, and it had looked all too human; and he had not only seen a woman, he had seen Juno Snape when he killed it. Ridiculous, he told himself, as he had been telling himself all along, this is a harpy you're talking about, not matricide. The thought did not prevent a convulsive jerk in his hand. He looked up as Redwood said, "-punishable by suspension or expulsion from this school, even a jail sentence." 

Baddock stood up. "Redwood, this is ridiculous. You are judging a student on grounds of prejudice-" 

Redwood flushed. "I am merely--" 

_--A certified idiot,_ Snape finished for him. 

"Prejudice against the spell the boy used in order to save a fellow student from grave danger, and prejudice against his House!" Baddock roared. 

What promised to escalate into a shouting match was brought firmly to an end by McGonagall. 

"In any case, the Headmaster must be informed--directly," she interrupted, placing herself sternly between the angry men. She addressed Baddock and Redwood. "Matt, Ryder, take Mr. Snape up to the Headmaster's office. If you don't need to see Madam Pomfrey first, that is, Snape." She added, casting a concerned look in Severus' direction. 

"I'm fine, Professor," Snape said, at the same time that Redwood said "Come with me, Minerva--a student in your House was attacked, after all." Snape had to restrain the mad urge to burst out laughing hysterically right then and there. _Afraid of being attacked by two Slytherins in the hallways, are you?_ Still breathing heavily to check himself, he left the Hall with three teachers in tow.   
  


  



	3. New Impressions

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 3: New Impressions**

A long, winding walk through the corridors finally brought the four, a student and three teachers, to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Though still with that slight feeling of vertigo, Snape remembered the way fairly well. He supposed it couldn't be a good sign that he was here for the third time in three years. This was the first time without Potter and his friends, too. 

"Jelly Slugs!" Professor McGonagall said to the gargoyle, and Snape rolled his eyes as the creature moved aside. Last time he'd been here, the password had been Ice Mice. Did the Old Fool care about security at all? Any fool could get through by rattling off a list of sweets. 

Professor Baddock knocked on the Headmaster's door. "Come in!" called the cheerful voice of Albus Dumbledore. _Here it comes_, Severus silently braced himself. Up to now, he had only thought of facing the Headmaster. But now, the sick realization was coming over him that it was Albus Dumbledore he was about to face, the wizard who defeated Grindelwald, one of the most powerful wizards alive and the greatest foe of the Dark Arts. 

Letting a dangerous magical creature escape confinement was a serious offense in itself--but even if he could convince Dumbledore he'd had nothing to with that, how much tolerance would such a wizard have for the usage of Dark magic by a student? 

He entered the office with suddenly leaden footsteps, Professors Flitwick and Baddock on either side of him, Redwood bringing up the rear. _It's like being arrested_, he couldn't help thinking. 

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, looked up from his desk, his face and manner mild and inquiring, his blue eyes twinkling behind the half-moon spectacles. Snape knew the mildness was deceptive--underneath the kind and jovial old man lay a terrible and fearsome wizard, behind those benign eyes immense strenth and shrewdness that could strike out at enemies when least expected. He had heard plenty of stories... 

"Minerva, Matt, Ryder, and Severus! I was going to call you. Please have a seat, all of you." 

"Headmaster," Redwood began stiffly, once they had settled down, "No doubt you know that an unfortunate incident took place during a Care of Magical Creatures class--" 

"Yes, a report came to me," Dumbledore said. "I still do not know the full story, however." 

"That is one of the reasons we are here," Redwood said. "That, and--" he looked in Snape's direction. "--another matter we thought you should decide." 

"Please." Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat. Redwood had just opened his mouth when Baddock interrupted him. "Headmaster, I would like to be the one to recount the events. I'm afraid my colleague has certain biases--" 

"But you were not there," Redwood countered. 

"Neither were you, when the actual events in question occurred. And you are determined to incriminate--" 

Dumbledore raised a hand, stopping both Redwood and Baddock effectively. "Minerva, if you please." 

Redwood and Baddock looked disgruntled, but seemed to acknowledge grudgingly that this was best. 

When Professor McGonagall finished her completely objective retelling of events, there was a short pause. Dumbledore turned to Severus with concern. 

"Are you feeling quite well, Severus?" 

"What?" Now this was something else he had not expected. Why would Dumbledore inquire after his health in the face of such serious charges? 

"I'm f-fine, sir," he answered, scowling inwardly at the stutter. 

Dumbledore scrutinized him closely over the glasses perched on his crooked nose. "Are you sure?" 

"I --" 

"Was there a feeling of vertigo or great weakness, perhaps confusion immediately after you slew the harpy?" 

Snape just couldn't see what this had to do with anything. Was this some kind of trap? He shook his head, trying to clear it. 

"Headmaster," Redwood said loudly. "The charges against this boy include facilitating the escape of a dangerous creature from confinement and using the worst kind of Dark Arts curse!" 

Dumbledore turned his eyes to gaze piercingly at the Herbology professor this time. "Innocent until proven guilty, Ryder. There is no proof that Severus had anything to do with the harpy's escape. As for the spell he used, he used it on a non-human creature in defense of a fellow student." At his words, Baddock looked at Redwood in triumph. 

"But Headmaster! He couldn't have had more than seconds to act, at most! How could he have acted so quickly without advance knowledge? And consider how quick he was to use the Killing Curse, something most students his age wouldn't even know about, much less know how to work!" 

Just go ahead, Severus sneered inwardly. Go ahead, say it--_'This Slytherin boy is evil!'_ And he would be right. All those hours of Dark Arts studying, practicing curses on mice and rabbits, sneaking into the Restricted section of the library for more information he wasn't supposed to know... he was evil, all right. A dirty, evil Slytherin. He suddenly felt very tired. 

"There will be an investigation into who was behind the harpy's release," Dumbledore said, his tone final. "On the use of the Killing Curse Mr. Snape is cleared of all responsibility." 

"But--" Redwood began again, but was silenced by a look from the Headmaster. 

"And now I wish to speak to Severus alone," said Dumbledore. "You are all excused." 

The three teachers took their leave, Redwood glaring at Snape all the way. _What's his problem,_ Snape wondered fleetingly. 

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore went on as if there had been no interruption, "did you experience such symptoms?" 

Snape found it slightly easier to speak now that he was not surrounded by professors. Feeling hugely relieved and not so apprehensive as before, he nodded. It would not be a good idea to lie to the Headmaster unless it was absolutely necessary, especially since he also happened to be one of the most powerful wizards in the world. 

"Yes," he replied shortly. He didn't feel like going into details. 

"Why didn't you go see Madam Pomfrey, then?" 

To that, Severus had no good answer at all. Pride, perhaps? No. Now that he thought about it, it was something else. Something, some fear... 

"You need not fear it was a particular effect of using the Avada Kedavra curse." Dumbledore's eyes regarded him behind the spectacles, grave yet warm. "Such symptoms can take place when one uses a spell beyond one's capability." 

Severus was startled. Yes, that was just it! He'd been afraid using Dark magic had effected him--he hadn't wanted anyone to know that, not even Madam Pomfrey. 

"I must say it is exceptional, an underage wizard killing a large magical creature on such short notice...Avada Kedavra requires quite a bit of magic, you know." Was that a trace of a compliment in Dumbledore's voice? Severus looked at him suspiciously. 

"But it is Dark magic," he couldn't help saying. He had no delusions--he had stopped the harpy when Potter and Black could not, not because he had more magical power but because he had had an overwhelming urge to kill at the moment, something the Killing Curse required. Why was Albus Dumbledore, of all people, talking about Avada Kedavra as if it were just any spell? 

"True. And there are better ways to react to dangerous situations. Stunning the creature would have been preferable, for instance." He was right. If Potter and Black had had time to coordinate their efforts and cast, for instance, the Stunning Charm at the same time, they would have stopped the harpy without killing it. "However, if you had not acted quickly, Miss Evans might have been seriously injured or even died." 

"Are you saying--" he couldn't believe he was having this conversation with Albus Dumbledore, but he was hooked-- "that the ends justify the means?" 

Dumbledore looked at him sharply. "No, Severus. That is why I asked to speak to you privately. You will not be punished for what you have done, but there are some things you need to know." 

* * *

Severus' mind was buzzing with the talk he had had with Dumbledore as he made his way down the stairs from the Headmaster's office. 

Did Dumbledore really mean the things he said? No one had ever spoken to him like that before, as if it was important for him to understand...as if he were someone capable of making choices, who needed information to make the right choices. 

He emerged from next to the gargoyle, trying to get his thoughts in order. Just then something moved in the hallway before him, and he saw a glint of red in the torchlight. Someone was standing down the hallway, leaning lightly against the wall. 

It was Evans. 

"Evans." His heart sank. Not only was her presence completely unexpected, he didn't feel like seeing her at all. He didn't have anything to say, he didn't have anything to hear--or did he? He shook his head again, hoping the aftereffects of the spell were making him hallucinate. 

She was still there though, a vivid point of light in the darkening hallway. She came forward to stand before him. 

"I thought you were at the hospital wing," he said stupidly. 

Evans smiled. "I was, when Professor McGonagall came to check on me. She said the Headmaster was speaking to you, so I snuck out to wait for you." 

Severus stared. "Why?" 

"I just wanted to say--thank you," she said quietly. 

Severus suddenly flushed deeply. All the things he had said and done for two years, all the insults and the bigotry, came flooding back. "I don't deserve that," he said before he could stop himself. "Evans, I'm really--" 

"It's okay. I don't want to hear it." She looked him straight in the eyes and he could tell it really didn't matter to her anymore. Amazed, he gazed back. How could she put the past away, just like that? 

"And, as way of thanks, how about a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks next Hogsmeade weekend? My treat." She smiled winningly, and Severus' insides went suddenly warm as if he had already swallowed a mouthful of butterbeer. He had never in his life been offered a gesture of unconditional friendliness in this way. Though he himself never suspected it, he had been badly starved for real companionship. 

"Sure, why not?" He did not smile--he was painfully out of practice--but managed something to the effect; his thin lips lost some of their their hard lines and his eyes grew slightly warmer as his usual cold glare receded. 

"I'll see you then. Two o' clock okay for you?" 

He nodded, and she waved and turned away. He watched her go for a moment, then turned the other way to return to the dungeons. 

* * *

Dumbledore had excused him from classes for that day and the next, but Severus had no intention of missing the next day's classes as well. He was very glad to miss out on History of Magic, however, and decided to take Dumbledore's advice to sleep off the aftereffects of the spell. 

"It can be compared to physical overexertion, except that it is one of the mind," Dumbledore had said. "Unless additional damage occurs, your natural defenses and healing capability are the best cure of all. For the mind," he had said with twinkling eyes, "these kick in in the form of dreams." 

Dumbledore had wanted him to know a few things, all right. He did not speak for long, but his words still rankled in Severus' brains. 

"I will not talk about the difference between right or wrong, or why the Dark Arts are evil," he had said, pacing the office. "These are matters too weighty to comprehend fully, and besides it is not for lack of knowledge of good and evil that people do evil things--most people know, even without being told, that it is wrong to hurt innocent people for profit or power. It is when lust for power or vengeance or recognition overcomes the need to do the right thing that people do the wrong thing." He turned to the thirteen-year-old wizard, robes damp with melted snow and grimy with dirt, sitting in his office and gazing at him mutely. 

"Severus, but I will tell you one thing. One can never hurt another without hurting one's own self. Every time someone kills or inflicts pain on another, something dies within himself as well, until finally one becomes a mere husk, incapable of feeling the full joys and pains that life brings. And that is death before death, worse than that physical death that so many fear. Do you understand what I am saying?" 

The boy shook his head wordlessly. He comprehended the words but did not understand what the Headmaster meant. ... 

As he sat on the edge of his bed, feet touching the cold stone floor, Snape suddenly felt a cold hollowness overtake him. "Why?" He said to the empty dormitory room. _Why didn't _you_ ever speak to me like that?_ He asked silently. _Why did you never give me words that showed you cared what my life would be like?_

Inside his head Dumbledore's voice continued. "I will not tell you what and what not to study," he had said. "For knowledge truly is power, and to face the Dark we must first have understanding, instead of shunning reality." 

The full import of his words did not strike Severus for a moment. Then he gave a violent jump and leapt out of his chair. "You _knew?_" He cried. "You knew and never let on?" 

"Severus," the Headmaster's voice was not stern; it was firm, but reassuring and kind. "You are already gaining quite a reputation for your knowledge of the Dark Arts. And after today I am afraid it will become even more heightened." 

Feeling idiotic, Snape sat back down. He now looked at Dumbledore with apprehension. 

"While I know it is dangerous knowledge, it would be wrong of me to stop you against your will, or punish you for it. But remember what I have said; once you act, the consequences of your actions will always come back to you, and it is something you cannot escape. 

"I see power in you, Severus," Dumbledore went on. "Not only magical power or intelligence, but also the power of passion and will. In the times to come, and they are dark times, you will have your role to play in the great struggle. So for the sake of all you hold dear, for the sake of the lives and hopes you might save, take care of yourself--have affection and respect for yourself, and do not hurt yourself out of uncertainty or hatred." Snape was hardly breathing when Dumbledore looked directly into his eyes as if searching his very soul. 

The moment passed. "And now, I have kept you long enough. You are excused from classes for today and tomorrow." It was then that Dumbledore had suggested he have some sleep to get over the aftereffects of overexertion. Severus rose to leave. 

"And Severus," the Headmaster called as Snape was opening the door to the office, "please do not hesitate to come anytime you need me." 

Unable to speak, Severus had nodded curtly, bowed, and left. He did not hear Dumbledore's light sigh as he closed the door behind him. 

_Why?_ Severus asked again as he sat on his bed, his head in his hands. _Why couldn't you have told me all those things? One such talk with you, and I would have treasured its memory for eternity, never straying from your words... _

_When Father was killed by those who dare call themselves Aurors, did vengeance become so important to you that you no longer cared what became of Septmius' and my lives? Were we--are we just tools to achieve your ends? Did you judge us as you would judge instruments, and favor Septimius because he was the better suited to your purposes? Why did you never tell me I could always come to you when I needed you? _

He lay down on the bedsheets, stubbornly refusing to cry. _One word of kindness, Mother, one affectionate look, and I would have held onto its memory like I would a precious gemstone and never let go..._

With these thoughts he fell fast asleep, not quite realizing that he had just gone through a day that could change his life. 


	4. Light, Dark, and Light

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 4: Light, Dark, and Light**

Three weeks later they had a Hogsmeade visiting weekend. Normally Snape did not like these visits, and would have avoided them altogether if it were not for his friends. This time, though, he found himself actually looking forward to it for the first time. 

The morning of the visit, he remembered that girls didn't like unwashed hair. Mei-lin was forever driving him crazy about it, but for the most part he'd ignored her. Now, however, he washed it nervously, not once but twice, and hoped it was enough. 

He took leave of the gang at a quarter to two, saying he had supplies to buy, and made his way to the Three Broomsticks. 

He was slightly early. And there was no sign of Hogwarts students yet. Feeling slightly out of place, never having come here alone before, he looked around and entered the deepest nook he could find, nearly hidden from view with potted plants. He wondered briefly if Evans would be offended, but decided she would not care to be seen with a Slytherin herself. He sat down and waited. 

About ten minutes later the redheaded girl appeared in the doorway, breathing on her fingers to warm them. She looked around uncertainly as he had done. He flicked his wand and let out a small spray of sparks. It caught her eye--she smiled and quickly made her way over. 

"Sorry I'm late," she said, sitting down across from him. 

"I imagine you had a job shaking your friends off," he said dryly. 

She looked at him a moment. "As a matter of fact, I did." 

"What story did you feed them?" 

"Actually, I said I was meeting Indira. She's buying books in a used-book shop, though." She looked down, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I'm the one who asked to--" 

"Don't get started," Snape interrupted. "As you wouldn't let me apologize to you, it would be only fair that I get the pleasure this time." 

She looked at him, slightly taken aback, and stood up. "I'll get the drinks," she said, and made her way past the potted plants to the bar. 

She returned with two foaming tankards and set them down. "Know what?" She said as she slid into her seat. "I don't think this is Severus Snape I'm talking to. I think you're someone else who drank Polyjuice Potion with his hair in it." 

He was pleasantly surprised. Not many students actually remembered the Polyjuice Potion, something that had been mentioned only briefly in class. 

"As a matter of fact, I'm not," he replied, playing along. "Snape is tied up and gagged, writhing in the caretaker's broom closet." 

"Oh." She smiled playfully. "And why did you do a thing like that, stranger?" 

"It's not as if half the boys in school wouldn't kill for a butterbeer with you, Evans," he said lightly. Then, realizing what he had just said, he felt like kicking himself under table. What would she think of him? It was not as if this were a date, and he was a Slytherin to boot! Besides, everyone knew Potter and Evans were an item--which had been another excellent reason for his tormenting her. 

Thankfully, though, she seemed to take this at face value, and chuckled. "Boy, I wish James could hear that." Was it his imagination that he saw something like anger or--hurt--cross her face when she spoke Potter's name? 

"So if you're not Snape, what do I call you?" She asked after another sip of butterbeer. 

"Severus, perhaps," he said flippantly, surprising himself again. He had never asked anyone outside his gang to be called by his first name. 

"You know that's really lame, don't you?" She shot, but they laughed anyway. Butterbeer's making me tipsy, Severus told himself. 

"And while we're at it, you shall now call me Lily," she grinned, and they both took sips of butterbeer in sudden silence. 

"Butterbeer's getting cold," he exclaimed in mock horror, putting his down. "I move that we drain them at once--whoever finishes last will buy the next drinks." 

"Wait, no fair! You've got the advantage, since you're a boy!" Lily laughed. 

"Well, I did kind of save your life," Severus jabbed. 

"Ooh, you Slytherin!" But she was smiling, and they lifted their tankards to drain them. 

Lily finished her drink first, however, and after one more butterbeer each they left, separately and with an interval in between.   
  


* * *

When Severus returned home over the summer after finishing his third year, he found the isolated and run-down Snape Manor a very busy place indeed. They had houseguests, scores of them sometimes. Piles of goods and gold would pass through the house, and meetings would be held. 

Worst of all, Septimius would sometimes clutch at his left arm with his right as if in pain; he would Disapparate with other..houseguests..who happened to be around, who also showed the same peculiar behavior--and the next morning The Daily Prophet would proclaim yet another attack or disappearance. 

Throughout the summer Severus tried to ignore it all. He delved into books with a hunger born of desperation to avoid reality, reading tirelessly about curses that melted bones and curdled blood(literally), potions that would madden, blind, and kill; he tried to imagine power, vengeance, recognition, the deep and dark joy of knowledge. He tried not to hear the mysterious screams from the basements that drifted up to where he slept; turned a blind eye when he found some of the vilest potions of his concoction gone from their shelves. 

He stowed himself away into his lab to avoid Mother and Septimius, for whenever he came face to face with one or both of them, few as such occasions were, he would get into bitter arguments over one thing or another. 

During the last of them Severus had spat, "What kind of self-respecting wizards call themselves Death Eaters, anyway? Or do you really dig rotting corpses up from graves to eat them? No wonder you _stink_, Septimius." 

Septimius Snape had sent his little brother halfway across the room when he struck him across the face. 

"Nevertheless, Severus, you are one of us--Junior Death Eater, if you like," the cold voice had mocked while Severus picked himself up with a baleful glare. 

"Why else did you let us use your potions?--And most useful they were, we thank you. And why did you study the Dark Arts so avidly at so early an age, if you did not dream of serving someone like Lord Voldemort one day?" 

Why, indeed? Severus stared up at his brother for a long moment, trying to figure it out. Then it struck him._ Because,_ he thought, unable to stop the sudden and sickening realization from dawning upon him,_ the Dark Arts was all you and Mother cared about. I thought that if I knew enough about it, lived up to your expectations, the two of you would love me. _ Trembling, he turned and ran from this truth, from Septimius' cold, dark eyes and into his lab. 

"_Reducto!_" He screamed when he reached the door, and it splintered before him. He strode into the cold, half-underground room, stumbling blindly on the fragments of the door. 

He stood there for nearly half an hour in icy, unbelieving rage at what he had thrown most of his young life into. _Useless,_ he heard that voice scream in his head again. _Didn't you know it was useless to hope? Did you honestly hope for love from a woman leeched of all life and warmth as surely as by a horde of Dementors, from a brother long since driven off the edge by hatred and ambition?_

He then brewed a concoction of aconite and nightshade that would kill instantly and without pain. He hardly knew what he wanted to do with it, except that he just wanted an end to everything--Mother, Septimius, Death Eaters, Voldemort, all the vile knowledge and dark fascination that tainted his mind, the hatred, the insecurity and the ache of longing. 

After hours of work he looked closely at the vial of poison, hesitating. Then, with the violent anger of those uncertain of themselve he dashed it against the wall and proceeded to destroy his entire lab. He melted the cauldrons; scorched the potion materials to so much black cinder; shattered the jars and vials holding the potions(many of which melted or burned the stone floor); set fire to the rolls of parchment full of painstaking recordings of experiments. 

As he sat numbly among the blackened mass of things, his heart nearly stopped when he turned his head to see his mother standing in the doorway where he had knocked down the door. He had no idea how long she had been standing there, watching him. 

Standing tall and straight in the doorway that framed her, Juno Snape's black eyes looked very nearly amused as she saw her younger son turn his glazed eyes her way. 

"You'll rebuild it all, you know," she commented with the cool air of someone who was entirely sure of what she was saying. 

And he did.   
  


* * *

When he gladly left home for the start of term and his fourth year began, tensions ran high at Hogwarts as the atmosphere became steadily grimmer outside the school. News of attacks on wizards who refused to turn or on Muggle-borns and Muggles were splashed across the Daily Prophet every day. Sudden, unexplained disappearances were increasing at an alarming rate, only to be explained very horribly later on in the form of dead bodies or gibbering, broken wizards and witches. 

The very name "Voldemort" did not pass the lips of many witches and wizards without fear in their voices and furtive glances, as if his red eyes might be watching them from some dark corner. The Ministry's pleas for the wizarding community to remain calm did little good, and slowly a subdued gloom, masking a tangled web of confusion, mistrust, and division, spread over the wizarding world. And Hogwarts was feeling the strain. 

Ever since the Avada Kedavra incident things were turning uglier and uglier between Snape and Professor Redwood, their Herbology professor. Now that Lord Voldemort (or You-Know-Who as many preferred to call him by then) was steadily gaining the upper hand in his campaign of terror, Redwood seemed to blame it on the Slytherins, particularly Snape. 

He wasn't far off his mark: It was common knowledge that the vast majority of wizards and witches gone over to the Dark side were former Slytherins, with their children in Slytherin in most cases. The mood in Slytherin couldn't be more different from that of other Houses of Hogwarts. They were jubilant, excited--there was the occasional rage or grief at the death of family or family friends, mostly at the hands of Aurors, but on the whole Slytherin House was a strangely uplifted place in those times of darkness. 

And Snape knew his mother and brother were playing no small part in Lord Voldemort's plans. He had to accept reality now--Mother and Septimius were Death Eaters, he himself was on his way to being one. 

"I can't wait to graduate," Rosier declared in Herbology class, breaking through Snape's fog of thoughts. "Things are happening out there, and here we are, cooped up under the Old Fool's eyes!" 

"Our time will come," Mei-lin smiled. "Patience, Evan." 

"Quiet, Redwood's looking this way," Snape hissed. 

"Snape," growled Redwood, "daydreaming and then talking in class? Five points off Slytherin." 

"Great," Snape muttered under his breath. 

"Since you seem so unrepentent, Snape," Redwood said, glowering, "let's see how much you know about the subject at hand. What are some other names for aconite?" 

"Monkshood, wolfsbane, Friar's Cap," Snape replied evenly. 

"Its magical application?" Redwood seemed a little taken aback--Herbology was not Snape's best subject. Snape had worked with this particular plant far too often not to know it inside out, though. 

"Discounting a few old wives' tales," Snape said, "its principle application is as a strong repellant against werewolves, as its other name of wolfsbane implies. They cannot come near a person wearing aconite, and cannot pass doorways hung with the plants. It is also said it could be used to cure werewolves but this is purely fiction, resulting only in the death of certain _unfortunate_ victims." A distinctly unpleasant tone entered his voice, and the Slytherins sniggered. They cared even less for werecreatures than they did for Mudbloods. 

"However, potions containing wolfsbane are used to treat the poisoning and swelling of werewolf bites and scratches, whatever good that does when the more significant and permanent result of bites cannot be reversed. The possibility of developing a potion for controlling werewolf behavior during the full moon is being discussed, but it remains a remote possibility as yet." 

Redwood glared at him. "And if you know it so well, describe the poisonous properties of aconite, please." 

"A deadly poison," Snape said avidly, shooting Redwood a look calculated for discomfort. "As little as two to five milliliters of its extraction may kill an adult, and children may die merely through prolonged touch. Symptoms of poisoning include pricking, tingling, or numbness in the mouth, nausea, vomiting, loss of balance, numbness in the limbs, difficulty in breathing--and death results from failure of the heart and lungs." Oh, how he had pored over every lurid detail, luxuriating in the details and illustrations. 

There was a long pause. Everyone watched with anticipation--the look on Redwood's face was not something to be taken lightly. They had expected disappointment, perhaps, or even anger, but not the look of fear and revulsion on his face. 

"Remarkable," the professor spoke at last. "Quite remarkable." He moved closer to the table where Snape sat with Rosier, Lestrange, and Jin. "How," he continued in a barely contained voice, "do you know so much about one of the most poisonous plants in Europe?" 

"Perhaps because I study, _Professor_ Redwood," Snape said in a silky voice, but he was slightly uneasy. He didn't like the look of things at all. 

"Or because you have had experience, young Snape." Redwood's voice was a deep growl now, the revulsion on his face giving way to a palpable rage and hatred. 

Snape's heart raced. _Young_ Snape? Could it possibly be that Redwood knew of the activities of Juno and Septimius Snape? 

"Yes, Snape, I know who you and your family are-" 

"I know who _you _are," Snape interrupted, desperate not to let Redwood continue. He twisted his face into a mask of derision and put venomous, dripping sarcasm into his voice--if he could channel Redwood's anger his way alone, he might stop him from blabbing about his family. "A poor excuse for a professor, if you need a student to teach your lesson for you." 

The results were a bit more flamboyant than he had intended: Unexpectedly, Redwood whipped out his wand, and the next thing Snape knew, he was flying backward across the greenhouse. His head struck something hard, and he blacked out. 

* * *

"Severus!" A concerned voice called behind him as he walked down a deserted corridor, and he turned around to face Lily Evans. 

"Severus, are you all right now?" 

It was two days after the incident at Herbology class; Snape had been taken to the hospital wing, where he had come around soon enough. His head was cut and bleeding from striking the greenhouse wall(magically strengthened against breaking), but he was soon healed and was back to normal by the next day. The same couldn't be said of Redwood, though... 

"Lily," he smiled at his friend. "I'm fine." 

She looked him over as if to see if this was true; then her green eyes broke into a relieved smile. "I'm glad to hear that. I heard you had a rather nasty crash on the head." 

"I'll say," he replied as she fell into step beside him. "You know Madam Pomfrey, though." 

Of course, this wasn't what he planned to say in front of the school board when they met to discuss Redwood's fate. He had it all worked out with his fellow Slytherins; how he would testify that he had experienced nausea, vomiting, loss of balance, numbness in the limbs, difficulty in breathing. He sniggered inwardly. This would sound _rather_ like the symptoms of aconite poisoning he had rattled off in Herbology class, and he would love to see the look on Redwood's face when he mentioned them. 

"So how was summer?" She asked. Severus had specifically asked her not to send him any owls over the summer and did not send any himself, passing off some excuse about bird traps on the premises. He didn't want Mother or Septimius to find out, by the remotest chance, where Lily lived, or even Lily's existence. It would have been too dangerous. 

"Fine," he lied. "I mostly kept out of Mother and Septimius' way." It was amazing how he had been able to tell her almost everything; Lily knew that Severus loathed his mother and older brother, though she didn't know what they did... 

"As I kept out of Petunia's," Lily grinned. 

"So how was _your_ summer?" Severus asked. 

"Great, considering. I even got to visit James' family!" 

"Great," Severus repeated, "but spare me the details." 

Lily rolled her eyes, then laughed. She had come to accept the fact that her boyfriend, James, and her newfound friend, Severus, did not like each other and probably never would. 

"We had Herbology today," She said, suddenly sober. 

"So did we," Snape said carelessly, then grinned. "Redwood wasn't there." 

"When is the hearing?" Lily asked, her voice still subdued. 

"Tomorrow." His grin widened even more. "Abusing, attacking, and injuring a student in class. We've got him for sure! He'll be kicked out of school so fast-" 

"Severus," she said quietly, "we need to talk." 

The smirk faded off his face. "About what?" 

"Did you know that Professor Redwood lost his entire family to Grindelwald's minions--through the Avada Kedavra curse?" 

Snape just stared at her for a second, mouth hanging open. "So _that_ was Redwood's problem!" He said at last. "He completely freaked because I-" 

"Yes." 

"I mean, but that's stupid!" Snape burst out angrily. "It's not as if I used it on humans or anything. Treating me like dirt because he can't get over his own problems-" 

"He was six years old when it happened," Lily said patiently. "His parents barely had time to hide him in a closet when they came. All his parents and older siblings were killed as he watched, and he'd have been found and killed, too, if Aurors had not closed in at that moment. He didn't speak for two years afterwards." 

"Whoa. Touching," Severus sneered. 

She looked at him steadily. "Also, Professor Redwood has wanted to resign and become an Auror for some time, ("Figures," Snape muttered) but couldn't until there was a position open, and another Herbology professor could be found. Both happened yesterday, though." 

Realization dawned on him. "And he completely blew his chances two days ago. An attack on a fourteen-year-old student will look terrible on his resume." He could have danced for joy, but kept his face impassive for Lily's sake. 

"Yes." 

He looked at her suspiciously. "Are you trying to tell me something?" He had this queasy feeling.. 

"I want you to try and get him off. When you speak before the school board and professors tomorrow." 

This took a moment to sink in. Once it did, Severus looked at her in utter disbelief. "Are you crazy, Lily? Speak for him? I've been waiting for something like this forever!" 

"Severus, Professor Redwood is a wizard of great power-" 

"I know. I've had firsthand experience," he interrupted. 

"-And I know he'll make a great Auror. He is also extremely dedicated to fighting the Dark Arts-" 

"Which I also know," Snape interjected. 

"Will you deprive our side of such a powerful opponent to the Dark? And though his behavior to you was inexcusable this past year, will you let your own professor sit out on the street without a job?" 

"If he deserves it, I will!" He shouted. The 'our side' bit had irked him. His side? Which was that, anyway? All he cared was that he hated Redwood, and would do anything to see him sacked dishonorably. 

"No, you won't," Lily said with perfect certainty. "You'll forgive him, and give him a second chance." 

"I'm not a forgiving person, Lily," he said, turning his eyes away. 

"Come on, Severus," she said softly. "Have I ever asked a favor of you before? This is the first time I ask one of you, as a friend. If only for my sake, tell the school board that Professor Redwood made a mistake, but can and will make up for it." 

He looked at her. All those old grudges, the bitterness, the insults, and that moment of panic when he thought his family's role would be revealed--all swirled inside him, then disappeared as he looked into her clear eyes. And she said--_as a friend._ This was his one true friend, the only one he had ever had. 

"Oh, all right," he said heavily at long last. "This had better not get out, though. The Slytherins will think I'm getting soft." 

"I'll carry it to my grave," Lily said, her face lighting up. "Thank you, Severus--I might even let you off washing your hair for a week!" She said, pulling at his shiny hair. 

He made a playful swipe at her, which she ducked, and they took separate paths for the Great Hall to eat. 

So, when he was excused from Transfiguration the next day to testify before the school governors, Severus Snape dropped the stuff he and his Slytherins had planned to make Redwod look bad. Instead, he swore Redwood was an honorable, dedicated professor who was never unfair to him, he didn't hold Redwood at fault for what had happened, and neither should the school. 

He insisted, though it galled him, that his own insolent and threatening attitude had given the Professor reasons to lose his head, and that Redwood's career should not suffer for such a blameless, though unfortunate, incident. 

All through his testimony Redwood looked like he was going to burst with embarrassment at his least favorite student's lies in his behalf. Looking at him, Snape was reminded of Lily's lecturing him on some Muggle thing about heaping coals of fire upon one's enemy's head (though it sounded like something horrible that Septimius would literally do), and felt some sense of satisfaction. 

_Well, Lily,_ he thought as he was finally excused and was going down the stairs back to his common room, _if Redwood doesn't get off, at least you can't say it's my fault. _

Unfortunately, Redwood did get off. He didn't get fired--he took a pay cut for three months, with no mention of the incident on his records. 

A _pay cut. _ To someone who was going to resign anyway. He'd as good as gotten away scot-free. A week later, word came that he'd been accepted to be an Auror with the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

Redwood's last dinner at Hogwarts took place in an oddly divided mood, with Slytherins looking angry and confused (Snape no less than the others at his overly well-done job) and the rest of the school exultant over the Slytherins' botched attempt at getting Professor Redwood fired and out of work. 

Snape noticed, with some satisfaction, that Redwood could hardly look his way and looked perpetually embarrassed. Dumbledore, on the other hand, met his eyes quite often with a merry twinkle in his own that made Snape feel ill. 

He was just leaving the Hall with the other disgruntled Slytherins when he heard his name called. 

"Snape!" 

He turned around and his lips curled to see Redwood standing there, having broken away for a moment from the mass of students and professors wanting to say good-bye. He approached with one hand outstretched, and Snape took a step back, not bothering to wipe the look of dislike and anger out of his face. 

"Snape," Redwood began hesitantly, "I'd like to apologize for the past year--and I hope we can part friends. Also, I'd like to say-" 

Snape panicked. If Redwood said "thank you," the Slytherins would know what he had done. He couldn't let that happen. 

"A nice _life_ to you, Redwood," he sneered, interrupting. As Redwood had already handed in his resignation he was technically no longer a professor. "I heard the death rate for Aurors is thirty per cent and still climbing. You just _may_ add to it with your wand-happy ways." He sidestepped Redwood's still-outstretched hand as if it were a squashed slug, purposefully turned his back on him, and stalked out the Great Hall. 

He heard a brief commotion in the Hall behind him, people murmuring to each other. Some were more outspoken: Black's voice could be heard to say, "Why that slimy--" while Potter said, "Ignore him, Professor. He's just angry he couldn't do you in." Then he turned a corner and the voices were cut off. 

But one thing made up for everything else when he found a note in his pocket the next week after Potions: 

_Thank you. I now free you of hair-washing for seven days. _

He grinned and tucked the note away with care, though he didn't use the privilege.   
  


* * *

Review, please! If you liked it, please review. Even if you didn't, please review so I can find out what's wrong. Thank you in advance.. :) 


	5. Altercations

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 5: Altercations**

As the mood of terror and confusion sweeping over the world outside Hogwarts worsened, the Slytherins became even more excited and exultant, and every time news of attacks or disappearances came their way they would talk about it triumphantly--not to mention rub it in the faces of other students, especially the Gryffindors. 

"Those fools really didn't know what was good for them, did they?" Wilkes said as he and the other fifth-year Slytherins waited outside the dungeons before Potions class, eyeing the Gryffindors and raising his voice purposefully. "If you ask me, they had it coming to them. I'd say they were almost as stupid as Potty and his family are," he said, glancing over to where Potter stood. 

"Shut up, Wilkes," Potter said. 

"How much blindness," Rosier rejoined, "does it take for a couple of Muggle-loving wizards--like the _Lovegoods_--" he named a couple who had been murdered in their home only the night before--"not to see who's winning?" 

Sirius Black growled deeply and took a step towards them. Resignedly, Snape braced himself in case of still more fisticuffs. It just wasn't his thing, and he didn't want to mess up a Potions class, but he'd have to pitch in if his fellow Slytherins persisted in this idiocy. Didn't Rosier and Wilkes realize there were better things to do with their time? 

"You'd better watch out for that Mudblood girlfriend of yours, Potter!" Avery called, with a glance in Lily's direction. "Who knows if she'll be next--oof!" 

"No, Sirius!" Lily cried over at the Gryffindor side, but it was too late. 

Moving so quickly that they had hardly seen him, Black had shot forward and landed a good one squarely on Avery's stomach. Avery doubled over and straightened with difficulty, only to be slugged in the face this time. 

Snape glanced over at the Gryffindors, expecting Potter and Lupin to come and break Black away. Instead, the normally mild Lupin went straight for Rosier and began pounding away without a word, a cold fury in his eyes. That was the frightening thing about Lupin--the unpredictability and wild abandon that sometimes flashed behind the calm outward appearance. 

There was no ending this peacefully now--_why_ wouldn't Professor Zabini hurry up? Not that he'd mind seeing Potter and his friends being beaten to pieces, but that seemed extremely unlikely in this event. 

Wilkes had just slammed a struggling Pettigrew against the wall, and Potter and Lestrange had just grabbed each other's collars, when the Potions professor finally showed. 

"What is the meaning of this, boys?" She cried, her usually quiet voice shaking in anger. 

"The Gryffindors! They attacked us!" Shrieked Dahlia Mulciber, pointing at Black, who held a bruised, bleeding, and dazed Avery by the front of his robes, and Lupin, who was just getting off a prostrate Rosier. 

"That's not true!" Lily said. "Professor--" 

"Silence! Snape?" Zabini turned to her prize student. 

"Completely unprovoked, unilateral attack, Professor," Snape began in a low voice, carefully avoiding Lily's eyes. If he couldn't have the pleasure of seeing Potter getting his face beaten in, points taken from Gryffindor and detention would do just as well. "Notice how only my fellow Slytherins sustain injuries--" 

"He's lying, Professor," Potter suddenly spoke up. "They were insulting the memory of the Lovegoods." 

Zabini looked sharply at Snape. "Is this true, Snape?" 

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go at all. "Professor," Snape said in his smoothest, most persuasive voice, "we were merely discussing the wisdom of their course of ac-" 

But the look Zabini was giving Snape was hard and cold. "I can imagine what kind of a discussion it must have been," the Professor said shortly, cutting him off. Then she turned to the Gryffindors. "And did you boys think you would defend the memory of the Lovegoods with your fists?" She spoke sternly, but with sympathy in her voice. "I understand why you acted as you did, but fighting is against the rules nonetheless. Eight points from Gryffindor, two points apiece." 

_Two_ points for each of them? It should have been at least ten points each, and detention! Snape shot a glare at Zabini and the Gryffindors(except one) that would have felled all of them if looks could kill; but Avery decided on the course of whining. 

"But Professor, Black really hurt me. If my father hears about this-" 

Professor Zabini turned to the Slytherins with quite a different look in her eyes. "Then go to the hospital wing, Avery, and act like a man," she snapped. Her eyes swept over the Slytherin fifth years with unmistakable contempt and anger. "Fifty points from Slytherin for words and actions unsuited to Hogwarts students."   
  


* * *

Snape was still seething when he swept up to the library after barely touching dinner. The grins and laughter from the other House tables had given his stomach a clenched feeling, making it impossible to eat. 

At the corner table where he usually sat, he was tearing a roll of parchment to pieces with his pen under pretense of writing an Arithmancy essay when he heard light footsteps, and Lily sat down across from him, heaving her books down. They often shared this table--it was nearly surrounded by bookcases containing books like _Flobberworm Behavior, Diet, and Development; A Day-by-Day Account_ or _The History of International Standards on Robe Lengths; A Comprehensive Guide._ Nobody ever came there. 

"Still mad?" she asked, pulling out rolls of parchment and writing tools from her bag. 

Severus remained silent, still scribbling furiously and tearing away some more parchment. Inexplicably, he didn't blame Lily for what had happened. For him, the incident was little more than an excuse to be angry with Potter again. 

"You know, you couldn't possibly hand that in," she remarked, looking over at his supposed homework. "Professor Vector will have a fit." 

He wordlessly continued his scrawling until the parchment split completely in two with a loud rip. He threw his pen down in disgust and wished some convenient students were sitting around so he could snarl "What are you staring at?" at them. Instead, Lily took his hand. "Let's go outside," she said. "You're not getting any work done this way anyway. The weather's too good to waste!" 

It was a clear March evening with the scent of moist soil and leaves in the air. They walked in the warm evening breeze, the cobalt sky slowly darkening above them, a waxing moon shining silver on the horizon. Severus felt his anger and humiliation slowly subside, both by the beautiful evening and Lily's calming presence. 

"It's terrible about the Lovegoods, isn't it," she said sadly. "The strikes are getting worse--crueler and more brazen every day." 

"Yes," he murmured. It wasn't easy to switch gears from coldly exultant with Lestrange, Jin and the others to subdued and sympathetic with Lily, and it was harder still not knowing which he really meant. "Nobody's safe anymore, nobody knows whom to trust anymore." 

"There are dark times ahead," Lily sighed, and Severus was reminded of Dumbledore's words to him in his third year. "James says Dumbledore is very worried. Dumbledore has so much on his hands--not only Hogwarts but the entire magical community looks to him for some sense of security." 

Severus nodded. _The only enemy our Master truly fears is Albus Dumbledore._ The voice came to his mind unbidden. It was Septimius, speaking in a meeting that he had overheard outside a door last summer, out of morbid curiosity. The Death Eaters seemed to think themselves quite safe in Snape Manor, and had set no special wards around their meeting-room. 

_If Hogwarts is ever to be broken, it is through isolation, not through direct confrontation,_ Septimius had said. _And our Master's victory is not ensured until that Muggle-and-Mudblood-loving Dumbledore is destroyed._

Then they had gone on to talk about Aurors and other wizards who were causing trouble for them, which of them might turn and which must be killed or--'neutralized,' and about new strikes against Muggles and Muggle-borns, and so on and on into the night. Talking of treachery against the entire wizarding world, against all that humanity believed to be true and right. 

And no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he was a part of that treachery--someone who knew, yet kept quiet; and by keeping quiet, thereby giving assent to all the atrocities, the bigotry and bloodshed, to Voldemort's rise to power. 

No. No. It couldn't be. He was _not_... 

Shuddering inwardly, he tried to shake off this train of thought. "With all this going on, isn't James worried about you?" He asked, breaking the silence. Maybe, if he mentioned Potter, Lily would bubble over with her usual happiness and help him forget these thoughts. 

Big mistake. "I can take care of myself," Lily said curtly, sounding like she had been through this conversation many times before, and Severus quickly realized he had better let it go at that. He metaphorically kicked himself for stupidity. 

It wasn't as if Lily and Potter, for all everyone gushed about how perfect they were together, were without problems. Though she never spoke directly of it, Snape could tell Lily sometimes felt left out because James was far too busy with his friends and Quidditch and seemed to have little time for her, especially since their second year--he seemed to be spending increasing amounts of time with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, poring animatedly over books in the library. 

After a few more moments of silence Lily stopped and turned to face Snape. "Severus, there's something I need to know," she said, as if she had made up her mind about something difficult. He knew the tone, after more than two years of knowing her. 

"Fire away," he replied, somehow uneasy. It was obvious that his lame effort at changing the subject to Lily's love life had failed spectacularly. 

"Are you a sympathizer of Lord Voldemort?" She was steeling herself, he could see, both to ask the question and to speak the name without fear. "I want to hear an answer from you, in your own words." 

So here it was, the question he had dreaded for so long--perhaps because he feared betraying his family, or feared losing his only friend, or because he didn't know the answer. 

They stood for a long time facing each other, just looking at each other in the gathering darkness--two teenagers sharing an unlikely friendship, gazing across two feet of space and an abyss separating them. 

"Lily!" 

Lily and Severus both turned, startled, and saw James Potter striding toward them. Crossing the grounds quickly with his long legs, he grabbed Lily to pull her away from Severus, and faced him angrily. 

"What are you doing here? What did you lure her out for?" Potter asked roughly, brown eyes flashing under his untamed shock of black hair. 

"James," Lily called weakly, "we're only out for a wal-" 

"A walk?" James burst out, "a walk alone in the dark with a Slytherin? Are you blind and deaf, Lily? Don't you know your position?" 

"My _position?_" Lily drew herself to her full height and looked James straight in the eye. "Will you elaborate, please, Mr. Potter?" 

Potter shook his head dismissively. "It doesn't matter. You're going in right now, Lily. And you," he said, turning to Snape, "are going to explain yourself." 

Severus had never seen Lily so outraged. Her eyes glittered and her face was pale as she faced a startled Potter. "I do not take orders from you!" She cried. "And neither does Severus." 

"So it's Severus now, is it?" It was hard to tell from the voice just what Potter was feeling--fear for her, anger, dislike, bewilderment, or something else entirely. "Lily, don't you know this snake? What would he want from you, except to-" 

"Harm her?" Snape said in a dangerously soft voice. "Is that what you truly fear? Is is possible that the great James Potter is starting to find out he cannot both attend all his social needs with his admirers and keep his girlfriend hanging at his heels all the time?" 

"You--" James lunged forward, and both he and Snape had their wands out in a flash. Both had been itching for an excuse to use them on each other anyway. 

"_Expelliarmus!_" Lily's voice came steady and clear in the night air, and both James' and Severus' wands flew out into Lily's hand. 

"Lily, you stay out of this," James snarled. 

"Stay out of this? Oh, of course, James--I am nothing but your lowly girlfriend." She laughed sarcastically without mirth, something Severus had never seen her do. She tossed James' wand back to him and turned toward the castle. "Come on, Severus. It's time to get back and work on that Arithmancy essay." 

Once they entered the school she kept walking faster and faster, then broke into a run. It was all Severus could do to keep up with her. "Lily! Wait! You'll hurt yourself." As if on cue, she tripped and pitched forward, and Severus only just managed to catch her before she fell. He helped her steady herself against a wall and stood next to her protectively. 

She stood leaning against the wall unsteadily, her body racked with sobs. "Thanks," she managed to say through her tears, and took out a handkerchief with shaking hands. After several more minutes of weeping she raised her tear-stained face and asked shakily, "why did you follow me? You should be back in your common room." 

"Well, for one thing, you still have my wand," Severus pointed out. 

Lily made a choking sound that was half a laugh and half a sob, and handed him back his wand. 

"Lily," Severus began now that the ice was broken, "I know this is between you and James--but could you tell me what's wrong? I know you've been having problems, but-" 

"It's-it's like what you said to him--out in the grounds," Lily took a deep, shuddering breath. "He thinks after all his Quidditch practices, after all his hours with other friends, when he turns around I should be there waiting for him. And it's like he thinks he'll make up for all the times we didn't spend together by trying to run my life for me." She had stopped crying by now, and looked relieved to have gotten that off her chest. 

"I know he loves me," she continued, "and I love him right back, but I'm just--just not _docile_ enough for him, I guess. I just don't see how our relationship can go on this way. And there are plenty of other girls slavering for his attention," she added with a hint of spite. 

_Not that he pays the slightest attention to any of them,_ Severus added silently, but did not say so to Lily, knowing it was beside the point. Unlike the wildly flirtatious Black, everyone knew Potter had his eyes on one girl and one only--ironically, another reason for girls to find him attractive. 

There was a long silence in the hallway, broken only by the occasional sputtering from a torch. Severus suddenly realized he was starving--the clenching feeling in his stomach had gone away, and he had eaten next to nothing for dinner. 

"Say, Lily," he said, "what do you say we sneak down to the kitchens for food? I'm famished, and I bet you didn't get much to eat yourself, since you came up to the library so soon after I did." 

"I _am_ hungry," Lily admitted slowly. 

"Oh, only-" Severus said, suddenly feeling very stupid indeed, "I don't know where the kitchens are." 

"I do," said Lily. "I've been there scores of times with Remus and Sirius and--James," she said, her face darkening. 

"Well, then! What are we waiting for? Let's get going!" 

"But Severus, if we get caught we'll be in so much trouble! Slytherin might lose even more points!" 

"What's fifty more points if I can bring Gryffindor down with me?" Grinned Severus. 

Lily actually smiled at that. "You've got a point there." 

Severus looked at her suspiciously. "Lame pun?" 

"You might say that. Come on!" 

Forgetting all thoughts of darkness, rivalry, and of the complexities of human relationships, the two sped down the suddenly cheery corridors laughing and bantering. 


	6. A Promise and a Feast

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 6: A Promise and a Feast**

For all his foggy lessons on crystal-gazing and astrology charts, Snape had never been taught the most important lesson in Divination; that ignorance is bliss, and happiness is possible only through not knowing the future. 

For six months, not counting the summers, he had had all the world--and then it came tumbling down. He should have known it wouldn't last, but didn't know, and so he got his six months. 

A week after the confrontation out in the school grounds, Lily finally told James that she thought they shouldn't see each other for a while. Afterward Severus sat with her, saying nothing and feeling no need to. She did cry, but the tears were healing tears--he knew she had been worn out trying to make her relationship with James work, and she was relieved she could stop working. 

She didn't mention how her talk with James had gone until several days later. The subject somehow came up during a lull in the library. 

"Indira's feeling a bit upset these days," Lily said when Snape commented on her best friend's absence. "Things aren't going too well with Ashok." 

"You get that," Snape grunted into his Charms textbook, "with a Gryffindor." He had no active reason for disliking Ashok Patil, the Gryffindor sixth year--it was just habit, being depreciative of Gryffindors in general. Then he realized what he had said and looked up quickly. "Lily, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." 

"No, it's okay," Lily said quietly. 

"I shouldn't have said that," he went on, just as quietly, but furious with himself. "Stupid Slytherin habit." 

"I know," she tried to smile at him and did not quite succeed. "I must have caught it from you. After my talk with James, I made Indira mad with 'stupid, overbearing Gryffindor boys' talk, too. And of course, things are none too comfortable in the common room these days." 

Snape fell silent, not knowing quite what to say. Lily had never talked about her break-up talk with Potter... 

"I can't really stay angry with him, though, when I think of how he looked when I told him we should spend some time apart," she continued softly. "He was all pale and trembling--he looked terrible, and he couldn't speak for a few moments." 

Her eyes were looking far away, a sad look replacing the usual sparkling laughter. Severus wished he could gloat at Potter's misery, but couldn't--not with Lily like this. 

"Then he asked if it was because of you." 

You? Who was 'you?' Severus had gotten the impression she was talking more to herself than to him, and experienced a moment of confusion. Then, realizing, he scowled grimly. "So that's the 'stupid, overbearing Gryffindor' part? I never thought he'd--" 

"I told him it was." She looked him straight in the eye. 

A torrent of books fell to the floor as his arm moved suddenly, and he jumped up frantically to gather them. 

"Severus," she called quietly from above. 

"But why-" he sputtered, still on his knees on the floor, the books lying forgotten. Seeing her warning look, he lowered his voice to a hiss. "Why did you tell him that?" 

"For one thing," she said composedly, joining him on the floor and picking up several fallen books, "he wouldn't have believed me if I'd said no. For another, I believe there is some truth in it." 

Severus shook his head slowly, looking down at the scattered books without recognizing them. Something warm spread down his chest, choking him at the same time. 

"Lily," he said in a voice that did not sound like his own at all, "do you really believe-" believe what? He didn't dare say it. 

"It's confusing," Lily went on calmly, hefting the books she was holding onto the table and turning to face him, "but you're the person who stood by my side through it all, the one I could confide in. You are a true friend, Severus, and you don't hurt me or wear me out like my relationship with James did." 

Severus felt he had to say something, anything, but nothing came out. What could he say? A thousand sentences came to mind but all of them seemed inadequate, too shallow to express this strange warmth within. 

"And you've been in love with me since day one--don't deny it," she said, calmly stating a fact without blushing or looking away. 

"I won't," he said very softly. Forgetting everything else, they leaned forward, their knees braced against the books scattered across the floor, and their lips met in a gentle kiss. 

It couldn't have lasted more than seconds, but it felt like a very long time, somehow. Flustered, they gathered up the rest of the books without looking at each other and sat down, the scrapes of chairs unusually loud in their ears. 

"Lily, there's something you need to know," he said, after an almost feverish hour of silent Defense Against the Dark Arts essay-writing. She put down her quill and looked up, the long-delayed blush creeping into her face as she faced him. 

"My family are Death Eaters," he said calmly. "They expect me to become one, too." 

"Will you?" The question hung over the table, almost tangible. 

He broke into a grin. "No, if only to spite them," he said. "I won't become a Voldemort supporter if my life depended on it." 

"Is that a promise?" She asked very seriously. 

"Yes." He looked into her eyes, those beautiful emerald eyes that had so often brought out the best in him, the first eyes to show him friendship and laughter. 

After a while they remembered the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. Lily looked down at hers and sighed in exaperation. "There go my Defense marks--I don't remember a word I wrote here!" 

"Strangely enough, I'm in the same predicament," Severus grinned. "How about if we look each other's over?" 

They spent the next half hour saying things like "No way--there are far more kappas in Mongolia, you dope!" or "Speak for yourself--what kind of self-respecting hinkypunk would ape a grindylow like that?" 

Finally, their homework more or less corrected to their satisfaction, they said good night and left seperately, as always.   
  


* * *

The habit of secrecy had become so ingrained that they hardly had to work to keep their relationship hidden. Hardly anyone knew of their friendship in the first place, anyway. Indira knew, and Potter had seen them just once together and gotten the wrong idea(ironically helping to make it the right idea). 

Despite always meeting in secret, or perhaps because of that, the two were always cautious of physical contact--Lily would playfully put Severus' shoulder-length hair in braids, he would sometimes take her hand during a walk in the unused part of the school grounds, but that was about it. And if the occasional kiss was more of the brother-and-sister kind, neither mentioned it. 

Nevertheless, now that he had told her about Mother and Septimius, he could talk about everything with her--and the two shared their deepest secrets, fears and hopes in those endless hours as the days lengthened and sunlight beat down ever stronger. 

Their fifth year at Hogwarts ended, and while Severus desperately wanted to write Lily, he told her with a heavy heart that they had better not--and this time she understood the real reason. 

September came around at last, and Severus was elated as he entered the Great Hall. His family's pressure to commit himself to Voldemort had become palpable over the summer, but he remembered his promise to Lily and had not given in. Now, seeing her over at the Gryffindor table, he grinned broadly and told himself everything would be all right. 

Somehow, though, the mood was not all that festive. During the Sorting, everyone noticed that several names were called but not answered to. McGonagall would call a name, wait almost a minute with straight lips and steady eyes when no one came forward to receive the Sorting Hat, then call out the next name. This happened three times, and she was unusually upset, though she tried to hide it. The other teachers looked pensive, too. The Potions teacher Professor Zabini, in particular, looked as if she had been crying. 

Then, after an unusually somber Sorting, Albus Dumbledore rose for the usual announcements--except that they weren't the usual announcements. Severus listened with a sinking heart as the Headmaster gravely announced that those three would never attend Hogwarts, and also announced names of those who would never be returning. 

Had things gone this far, then, over the summer while he tried to think of Lily and avoid pressure from his family? He hadn't even seen these deaths and disappearances on the _Daily Prophet_. 

"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence that followed his list of names, "wants us to believe that these deaths are accidents or coincidences--and the _Daily Prophet_ reports along those lines as well. But we must know, we cannot do such a dishonor to the memory of those who have perished at the hands of the most powerful Dark wizard of the century. 

"Never forget the names you have heard today. Never forget these students and their families, who died because they would not join the ranks of Lord Voldemort--" general wincing around the Hall-- "-or because they were of Muggle parentage. Their deaths," Dumbledore spoke in a quiet voice that nevertheless strongly resounded in the Great Hall, "will not be in vain as long as we do not despair and do not cease to fight this new threat. Let us observe a moment of silence for our fellow students." 

Severus was about to lower his head when he noticed that Mei-lin next to him was looking defiantly up at Dumbledore, her head thrown back and her eyes challenging. Lestrange, Rosier, and Wilkes followed her lead, Rosier smirking as he took in some of the teachers' outraged or uncomfortable looks. 

Then Severus glanced over to the Gryffindor table, where Lily had her head bowed down, the look of sorrow visible even from a distance. 

He lowered his head, letting his hair fall around his face to conceal the faces of his friends from sight, and tried to think about what Dumbledore had said, but was too nervous. This was the first time he had defied the gang, however small the gesture was; and he certainly didn't like the feeling. 

"And now, the feast." Dumbledore's words came after what seemed like an eternity, and instantly the dishes before them were filled with delectable food of all kinds. "Enjoy the feast--remember, we do not really lose as long as we do not despair." 

Severus heard scraping chairs all around him. He looked up, bewildered, to see that the sixth and seventh year Slytherins had all risen from their chairs and proceeded to head for the door. Then, hearing a commotion at the staff table, he saw Baddock had gotten up, as well, and was making his way over to his students. _Good, at least Baddock has some sense,_ he thought with relief. 

Baddock conferred briefly with the sixth and seventh-years, and Snape caught words like "must voice complaint-" "can't allow-" 

Then Baddock looked up and faced the staff table. 

"The sixth and seventh year students of Slytherin House and its Head hereby boycott this year's welcoming feast, in light of the biases and slander that mark it," he said coldly. 

All eyes turned to Dumbledore, who stood up and said calmly, "I suppose I cannot stop you or the students, Professor Baddock. I will arrange to have food sent to the Slytherin common room. 

"I will say this, however," he went on, and there was a steely light in his eyes few in the Hall had ever seen before, "you must realize that more innocent lives will be lost unless we acknowledge the truth about Lord Voldemort--and unless the entire wizarding community works together." 

The two men stood for a while, their eyes locked, a contact Baddock broke first. He turned and strode from the Hall, nineteen Slytherins in his wake. 

Snape stood up. "Alan! Evan!" Lestrange and the others paused briefly and turned to look at him. 

"For God's sake, stop being stupid and come back," Snape said sharply. 

"Have a pleasant evening, Snape," Lestrange said coolly as he turned away, and he and the others quickend their pace to join the seventh years and their Head of House. 

Snape then realized that he was alone at his side of the table, a conspicuous empty space around him and more eyes than he liked boring into him. He noticed movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to see four fifth years, two fourth years, a third year, and a second year getting up to head for the door. 

"And where do you think you're going?" He snarled, his voice ringing surprisingly loudly in the nearly silent Hall. 

"We-" a fourth year tried to speak, but cowerd at the look on his face. 

"Sit down," he said in a dangerously low voice that he knew half the Hall would hear anyway. "I am the only prefect left here, and with our Head of House absent, I am in charge. And I say--sit down and eat!" His voice was so venomous that the fourth year started, and they all sat back down. 

He didn't bother to move over to a more occupied portion of the table, and with empty seats for company, started choking down the food which had suddenly acquired the taste and feel of sand. _Idiots, every last one of them,_ he thought as he viciously stabbed a sausage. _Can't they see what's going on? Dumbledore should poison the food he sends down for them._

He could hear whispers and murmurs coming from every way, but soon the mood of the feast warmed, more or less. Still, the groups of first years that rose at Dumbledore's suggestion of retirement were very subdued and quiet. 

"Slytherin first years over here," Snape called dully. He was doing this job for two years in a row. It was usually a fifth year prefect's job to escort the first years to the dorm, but Ariel Zabini, newly made a prefect, was one of the eight that would never return, the only Slytherin among them. She was Professor Zabini's niece. 

As he led the ten-and-eleven-year-olds towards the dungeons, Snape tried not to think of the reception he would get in the common room. The silent treatment, probably. He could handle that--he had never really liked any of his gang, anyway. 

Finally they reached the stone steps leading down to the dungeons. Snape took a step down-- 

And his stomach gave a lurch as his foot slipped. Ceiling and stairs changed places crazily and he came down hard on his right hand. 

"Halt!" He shouted in a general upward direction. The last thing he needed was a hail of first years falling on top of him. 

As if the word had been a spell, a first year boy who was just about to descend froze midair, then slowly pulled his foot back up. 

Snape tried to stand up, but the pain in his left ankle was almost blinding. _Momentary pain from twisting,_ he told himself. He took a few breaths, waiting for it to subside, then limped with a hand to the wall to the bottom of the staircase. The first years looked down from the top nervously. 

The stairs looked perfectly normal. A Concealment Charm, perhaps? He took out his luckily undamaged wand and waved it, muttering "_Finite incatatem._" It took two tries because his wrist didn't move properly, and he felt a mounting rage. _I'll get Black and Potter for this,_ he swore. _Making a fool out of me in front of first years.._

The stairs suddenly sparkled white in the torchlight, and he heard the first years gasp. "Ice," he said grimly, then transferred the wand to his left hand and said, "_Vaporos instanter!_" 

There was a momentary chill in the air as the ice evaporated in an instant. 

"All right, it's safe to come down now," he said wearily. The pain in his ankle had settled down enough for him to walk. "But stay behind me, you never know how many more welcomes the Gryffindors have planned." 

They came to the stone wall without any more mishaps, however, and Snape decided he had been lucky. Likely Potter and his gang had had too little time to set up more elaborate traps. 

He stood before the stone wall, and looked over his shoulder at the first years. "You must always know your password," he said. "Without it, you will not be admitted into the common room." 

He looked at the wall, opened his mouth--and realized he had forgotten the password. No, it wasn't 'pure-blood' or 'Parseltongue.' After falling down the stairs and whatnot, it had fled his memory completely. Small, nervous titters sounded behind him, then were stifled quickly. 

_What I won't do to Potter and Company for this,_ he thought venomously. _I'll make them recall the school motto--never tickle--_

"Sleeping dragons," he said, remembering, and the stone wall slid open to reveal the fireplace and high-backed chairs. 

He stood aside to let the first years pass, and if any of them felt inclined to so much as look amused at his misfortunes, the impulse fled at the sight of the poisonous glares he shot each of them. A streak of blood down one side of his face from a cut on his temple helped the effect greatly. 

Once the stone wall shut after the last of them, he made his way as quickly as he could to the entrance hall in search of the Gryffindors, impatiently wiping the blood dripping from his chin. 

Black was there with Lupin and Pettigrew, chatting and goofing around, as usual. 

"Black!" Snape called harshly. 

They turned around to face him, somehow managing to look surprised at how he looked. 

"Well, what's the matter, Snape?" Black called back. "You look like something the cat dragged in." 

It was true. His robes and hair disheveled, walking with a limp and his face bleeding, Snape had to admit he wouldn't make for a very imposing sight. 

"Let's see if Dumbledore's sentiments match yours, Black," he sneered, coming face to face with the tall Gryffindor. "Did you think that was amusing, trapping a stairway where any blundering first year might have broken a leg and making a fool of me in front of my House first years?" 

"Snape, what are you _talking_ about?" Black said with maddening innocence, while Lupin and Pettigrew exchanged confused looks, throwing Snape into further rage. 

"Don't lie to me!" He yelled. Just then a stab of pain shot through his ankle and he stumbled, catching himself against a pillar. 

"If you need your leg fixed, don't come to us, go to Pomfrey," said Black nonchalantly. He did look grudgingly concerned, however, and walked toward his archenemy. "Look, I'll help you get to-" 

The next moment, Black found himself looking down the length of a wand. 

"I don't need _your_ help," Snape whispered. "Just because I'll be an outcast from Slytherin now-" 

Things were just getting ugly (and interesting for the bystanders) when someone else entered the scene. "Sirius! Severus!" 

"Lily?" Black said, and Snape wondered through the fog of pain and embarrassment how much Black knew. It soon ceased to matter as Lily came to stand next to him. He dropped the wand--his fingers weren't really working anyway, and he realized his wrist had become very swollen. 

"Sirius, what's going on here?" Lily demanded. 

"Nothing! I didn't lay a finger on him, I swear! He just shows up looking like--like that, then raves about our trapping some staircase to show him up.." 

"And you didn't?" 

"No! I mean, we didn't even have time, and anyway we wouldn't have done that--someone could have really gotten hurt, and someone really did get hurt--" Black stopped suddenly. 

Snape watched as realization dawned on both Lily and Black's faces. _What?_ He wondered irritably. He was feeling stupid in more ways than one now. 

Lily turned to him. "Severus, I'll take you up to the hospital wing. Let's go." She bent to pick up his wand and put it in his pocket for him when she saw he couldn't use his fingers. She looked very grim as she helped him through the halls to the infirmary. 

Under the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey his swollen and pained ankle quickly healed, and so did his wrist, which turned out to have a fracture. While waiting for Madam Pomfrey to attend to some other students and get bandages and potions for him, Snape grumbled to Lily, "Why didn't you let me get him?" 

"First, fighting and magic usage in the hallways are against the rules," she replied. 

He rolled his eyes. "I used magic to get rid of that booby trap anyway. What's one more rule-breaking while you're at it, especially if I can get Black?" 

She looked at him sternly. "Removing the trap was different. There are exceptions to every rule. And second," she went on before he could reply, "you were in no condition to 'get' anyone. Third, Sirius and the others had nothing to do with the staircase prank." 

"_What?_" Thunderstruck, he looked at her as if she had started sprouting horns. "What do you mean, they didn't..?" 

Lily sighed. "Can't you see, Severus? Sirius _always_ owns up his pranks. And he just didn't have time to set up any kind of trap, because like everyone else he went straight from the Hogwarts train to the Great Hall. And Sirius and Remus and the others don't play pranks that can get people hurt, like you got hurt today." 

Snape suddenly felt sick. Was she saying-- 

"It was the Slytherins who did that, Severus. For your act of defiance to the group." 

"Merlin's beard," he said slowly. Yes, it all made sense. That was the Slytherin style--sneaky and vindictive, unoriginal and unamusing, uncaring of injuries, even of the first years in their own House. Plus, they'd had the time and opportunity to do it. 

His heart sank for the second time that evening, and to cover it up, he let loose with all the things he would do to his so-called friends. None of these were even remotely legal, all involved the Dark Arts, and all were frighteningly possible for him. Then he recalled who he was with and turned to see Lily looking at him, her eyes serious. 

"Do you really mean all that?" She asked quietly. 

"You know my reputation, Lily," he said, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. "But no, of course I don't mean them," he said quickly. "except maybe the Scalping Hex on Lestrange-" he paused at the look on her face, abashed. "Sorry," he mumbled. 

"It's okay," she said, though her smile seemed a bit shaken. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I trust you." 

As Madam Pomfrey came for him with the bandages Snape looked at Lily, astonished once more at her strength--the strength, he knew, of people who had been loved and knew it. Something he did not have, and never would. 

He did not feel bitter--he seldom felt bitter these days--but he wished he had some of that strength to give back to her, not always be on the receiving end. 

He was a weak person, he knew it. Just as people who grow up being loved possess inner strength, the unloved are very frail inside. It was why he sought approval and a sense of belonging so desperately. 

And now he didn't even have that. 

_No matter,_ he thought as he left the infirmary and said good-night to Lily. He knew he had guidance and strength now in someone who, for reasons he could not fathom, cared for him. He was no longer alone. 

He watched as Lily disappeared down the corridor, darkness swallowing a point of light as she went. 

  



	7. Letters

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 7: Letters**

* * *

Life as a Slytherin was becoming steadily more tiring for Snape as it became clear his Housemates were not keen to forgive him. When it became evident they could not match him in the variety and sheer nastiness of hexes, they resorted to more inane devices. Finally, tired of having his bed shortsheeted and his homework stolen, he protected his possessions with a Shriveling Curse. 

Baddock, however, was not amused when Avery came to him with wrinkled hands half their normal size. Snape ended up scrubbing Moaning Myrtle's bathroom while the ghost plunged in and out of toilets and sinks, wailing how they wouldn't leave her alone even after death. He hardly cared--she was positively pleasant company after his roommates, anyway. 

Thus when a note from Lily arrived one evening, he jumped at the chance to see her. Not only had he missed her like crazy, it would be a welcome relief from the ostracism and unpleasantness he had to put up with. What did it matter if the time and place were a bit odd? The note did say she had something special to show him.   
  


* * *

He came to the appointed junction of the deserted hallway at ten. Emerging from the shadows, his heart leapt to see Lily standing ahead, just in sight around a corner. He was about to call out when he froze in his tracks. 

James Potter's voice called "Lily, you're late!" seemingly out of nowhere. Lily looked around, looking confused. "James?" 

Then James Potter himself materialized out of thin air, pulling off a silvery cloak as he did so. Snape instinctively flattened himself to the wall. 

_An invisibility cloak!_ Snape was barely surprised at the discovery, however, having to deal with a far more bewildering tangle of emotions just then. The next exchange to take place, however, made everything clear. 

"James, what are you _doing_ here?" Lily asked. 

"Lily?" Potter sounded completely confounded. "You-you sent me the note asking me to come here at ten minutes before ten." 

Lily was silent. 

"And obviously, you were expecting to see Snape here," Potter said, understanding dawning in his voice. 

"We've been set up," she said in a small voice. "It must have been Handwriting-altering charms." 

"I can't believe I fell for the oldest trick in the book!" Potter exclaimed exaperatedly. "Whatever their intentions were, I'll get back at the Slytherins for this." 

Snape agreed silently. A Shriveling Curse was too tame--he'd find something. First he'd get Avery, who was definitely involved, then Rosier and Wilkes. He would also let Lestrange and Jin have it, whether they were involved or not. 

Just then all three heard the most unwelcome sound imaginable at the moment--footsteps. 

"Oh, no--it must be Pringle on his rounds!" Lily whispered. 

"Quick!" Potter, to Severus' ire, grabbed Lily by the arm and led her into a side passage. Severus himself ducked into the nearest passage, knowing he'd get lost if he did not retrace his exact steps back, but driven by the urgency of the situation. 

He watched the main passage from where he stood, ready to go deeper into the passage the moment Pringle's footsteps showed signs of turning his way. 

"I've been told I would find three students here," muttered the sharp, high-strung voice of Apollyon Pringle. "We'll split up to find them, Azazel, my pretty," he said, addressing his pet lynx. 

Snape almost didn't hear the caretaker before he came on him. To escape him, he blindly rushed along the hallway without knowing where he was headed--he was lost. Then nearly laughed with relief when he saw the statue of Baldric the Bald ahead. Every half-baked Slytherin second year knew you only had to take the hallway that the bald wizard's statue faced to take the alternate course to the Slytherin dungeons. 

Still grinning at his good luck, he headed toward the statue, then paused. He thought of Potter and Lily together in the depths of the unused parts of the castle.. 

He shook off the thought. He trusted Lily. Didn't she trust him when there was hardly anything trustworthy about him? The least he could give back was his own unconditional belief in her. 

So, what were Avery and his lot up to? He wondered as he turned left at Baldric's statue and headed down the branching corridor. Trying to get points shaved off both Slytherin and Gryffindor in one stroke? _Such grand consideration for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,_ he thought sarcastically. Well, no matter, they'd regret that dumb trick soon enough... 

He came to a dead stop. He had stepped into another passage into the shadow of a huge ogre statue on his right-hand side. This new passage met perpendicularly with another passage on his right--and Lily standing with Potter at her side in the passage to the right, on the other side of the statue. He could see them clearly but they couldn't see him, hidden as he was by the ogre. 

"Did we lose her?" Panted Lily. 

"I think so," Potter replied, himself out of breath. 

Snape cursed inwardly. This wasn't the way back to the dungeons. The castle could have shifted around, it was always doing that. Except that the coincidence was a tad too interesting.. The better explaination was that Baldric the Bald had been moved. 

Same conclusion either way--he was hopelessly lost, not to mention trapped: Show himself now, and both Lily and Potter, well definitely Potter, anyway, would think _he_ was behind this. Who would believe him if he said he was set up as much as they were? Go back the way he came, though, and he could wander till break of day, and most likely get caught. 

His best chance was to hope they knew the way better than he did, and follow them without revealing himself until he came to a familiar part of the castle. 

While he came to this conclusion, there was an awkward pause between Lily and Potter. 

"Well, we'd better get going, then," Lily said uncertainly, and turned away. 

Hers was not the only heart that sank when Potter took a step after her and held her by the wrist, saying "Lily, wait." 

"James, Pringle might come this way any moment and-" 

"Lily, I miss you so much." The words rang trembling in the dark hallway and hung in the air, the desperate tone almost visible and tangible. 

"James-" she protested weakly, but did not move away when Potter drew nearer. 

"I need you, Lily," the boy went on, his words coming in an unplanned and sincere rush. "Can't you reconsider? Please forgive me for being such a jerk--I see now that I took you for granted, the most precious-" 

There was a long moment while the two looked silently into each other's eyes. Snape knew what Potter saw--her clear green eyes shining in her white, delicate face, her hair pale fire in the darkness. Finally, at a loss for words, James Potter's lips closed over Lily Evans' deeply, passionately. 

Snape tore his disbelieving eyes away, feeling like a dirty sneak, but not before he saw her arms clasp Potter's neck almost convulsively after the first moment of numb shock. He knew what made her cling to her ex-boyfriend like that as if she were drowning--it was something he himself could never give her, something beyond reason and beyond control. 

Then he heard Lily's voice again. "No!" She said, and he raised his eyes to see she had broken away, Potter looking shocked and distraught. "No, I can't, James. I-I'm sorry." She sounded close to tears. She hastily turned to go, then froze. "Azazel!" She hissed. 

Snape turned to his left. Sure enough, the lynx's malicious eyes were gleaming in the passageway. It hadn't seen him, hidden as he was in the shadows, but it certainly had seen the other two. 

"Let's go before she fetches Pringle," Lily said, but Potter stood, dejected, as if rooted to the spot. "Come on, James!" 

Azazel had already turned around to slink off when Snape pointed his wand her way and whispered a Befuddlement Curse. It yowled confusedly and started going in circles, stumbling over its own legs. 

Potter seemed to come around a little at this. "What's making her behave like that?" He said suspiciously. 

"Who cares? Come _on_!" Lily practically dragged him away, and Snape stared moodily at the now practically dancing Azazel as their footsteps died away. 

After a while he went in the direction the other two had gone, the only certainties in his mind being that Lily was the best thing that had ever happened in his life, and the most painful. And that he hated Potter for all both of them were worth.   
  


* * *

He never mentioned the incident to Lily as October wore into November. Nor did he wreak vengeance on the Avery or anyone else--it seemed as if acknowledging what had happened in any way would break something, a fragile balance. He and Lily still met whenever they could, and they still talked, studied, and shared wonderful moments together. 

And slowly, he was starting to hope for something he had never dared hope for before--that maybe, just maybe, this was more than teenage hormones(there certainly weren't a lot of hormones involved anyway) and he might have moments like these all his life... that light and happiness could really be his. 

And then, he received a letter over breakfast. 

Snape was very surprised (to say the least) to receive owl mail--he hadn't received any mail at all during his years at Hogwarts, since all his friends were at school with him and his family were not the letter-writing type. He had even found out Septimius' return to England through the _Daily Prophet_. 

The envelope said it was from his brother; and, though he railed at himself for being a fool, his hands nevertheless shook a bit and his stomach did weird flip-flops as he opened it. 

His heart sank as he read the brief letter and looked at the slip of parchment enclosed with it. At that moment Lestrange, just finished with his own correspondence, noticed Snape holding one. 

"Snape! You've got _mail!_" He exclaimed mockingly. "I don't believe it! Did someone die? Or are your family going to disown you at last?" 

Wilkes looked Snape's way and saw the look on his face. "What's the matter, Snape? Wrong address?" He asked snidely. 

Snape scowled as he put the two pieces of parchment face down on the table. "None of your business, Wilkes." He began shoveling down his food. 

"Well, then, let's see what Snapey's got!" Avery snatched the letter and the enclosed slip, holding it out of Snape's grasp as he perused the contents. 

"So your mother's sick, huh?" Sneered Avery. "Figures--why else would they write you?" 

"What, you mean someone wants to see _that_ on her deathbed?" Laughed Rosier. 

Seizing his chance while Avery guffawed like an idiot, Snape kicked him under the table--hard. He took the pieces of parchment back as Avery gave a yelp and reached down to grab his shin. 

Deciding he'd had enough of breakfast with his fellow Slytherins, he stood up and strode over to the staff table to where Baddock sat. 

"I need leave from school for a day," he said, shoving the two pieces of parchment practically under the professor's nose and ignoring the glare he got. He knew he was being horribly rude, but so what? "It says here my mother is ill--my brother is asking me to come see her at St. Mungo's." 

Baddock looked first at the letter, then at the enclosed parchment which was a diagnosis from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries stating Mrs. Juno Snape was recovering from a hex-induced coma. 

"Is this genuine?" Growled Baddock, sounding remarkably like Redwood, the former Herbology professor, had when addressing Snape. 

"I wouldn't tell you if it isn't, would I?" Snape answered coldly. "If you won't sign a permission slip, I'm sure the headmaster will." He knew Baddock wouldn't stand for that, not after the way he'd been at Dumbledore's throat since the little stunt at the welcoming feast two months ago. 

Sure enough, Baddock conjured a permission slip, signed it, and flung it across the table. Snape caught it, and stopped by the Slytherin table just long enough to retrieve his bag. Dodging the feet that shot out to trip him, he gave a small, reassuring nod in the direction of the Gryffindor table and walked out the Great Hall. 

He was back by evening, and went straight to bed, ignoring his roommates' sarcastic remarks and not bothering to ask about homework, since he would get no response or fake ones. He'd ask the professors themselves. If he looked a little vague and confused, no one took notice.   


* * *

Several days later, Snape was lounging in the common room after classes, thinking of Lily and trying to work on a History of Magic essay, when Baddock entered. 

Everyone stared: The last time Baddock had come to their common room was the time he had boycotted the welcoming feast with the Slytherin sixth and seventh years. The few other times, he had had serious announcements to make. 

Snape's heart sank when his Head of House walked toward the table where he was sitting alone. _What now?_ He furiously racked his brain for things he might have done, but came up blank. Or did Baddock know he had been wandering the halls at night? Had Avery and the others told him? 

Baddock stood before his table, the whole common room watching. Snape looked up, trying to look as indifferent and disdaining as he could, but the look on the professor's face froze him cold. Baddock did not look angry or menacing--in the firelight, he had a look on his face like someone had died. 

"Snape," he said in a low, strained voice, "Professor McGonagall's study. Now." 

Snape put both hands on the table and stood up, mechanically, slowly. Dumbledore was in London, and McGonagall was acting Headmistress. This had to be serious. 

As he headed out the common room with Baddock, Rosier, who was sitting at the other side of the room, called, "What, are they going to expel you at last, Snape?" They had learned from two months' experience that it was safe to insult Snape in Baddock's presence. 

Which was why Snape was as startled as everyone else when Baddock turned on Rosier furiously and snarled, "Detention, Rosier. Report to me tomorrow after class." 

Now Snape was getting _really_ worried. Though at least it didn't look like he would be expelled... 

When he entered McGonagall's prim and severe study on the first floor, the first thing he saw was McGonagall also looking like someone had died. Only, mingled in that distraught look was an expression of the utmost fury, turning the butterflies in his stomach to solid rocks. 

The next thing he saw was men in uniform--official-looking navy blue robes. 

And then he saw Redwood, his former Herbology professor and one of his least favorite people, standing before McGonagall's desk in the same navy blue. He looked gaunter and tougher than before, and somehow taller, but it was him, all right--the professor-turned Auror. 

So these were Aurors, Dark wizard catchers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He forced himself to keep breathing, and not too deeply or too shallowly. What were they doing here? 

"There he is," Redwood said, turning to the door as he and Baddock entered. "Severus Snape--Alexander and Juno Snape's son, Septimius Snape's younger brother." 

"But sir, he's just a boy," a very junior-looking Auror said dubiously. He did not even wear the Auror badge signifying the rising sun. _You're no sage old man yourself, _Severus snorted inwardly. He looked rather familiar.. 

"Of course he is, Longbottom. What did you expect?" Retorted Redwood. "That's why they used him." Now he remembered the man--or boy, rather: Frank Longbottom, a Gryffindor just two or three years his senior. So he had gotten into an Auror apprenticeship. How impressive. 

"If they did use him," Longbottom shot back. If he felt nervous about contradicting his superior, he didn't show it. 

"What kind of talk is this?" McGonagall interrupted, angrier than Snape had ever seen her. "I tell you, you are _not_ going to take a student out of this school! Ryder, I never thought you'd-" 

"Do you know what is at stake here, Minerva?" Redwood faced her, equally furious. As he turned his head, Severus clearly saw a long and livid scar down the side of his face and neck. "If we cannot find a location, or a link, lives may be lost before the day is out! This boy is the only key!" 

"No," McGonagall said, though her voice was weaker. "Dumbledore would never allow this." 

"Would Dumbledore allow lives to be lost through indecision? Would we have come here to drag a boy out of school if we had any other way?" 

"At least let me send an owl-" 

"And how long before we get an answer? You know his business there cannot be interrupted." 

"Snape will not leave the school grounds," McGonagall said again, with more stubbornness than conviction. 

"Minerva," Redwood lowered his voice, "you know Dumbledore left you in charge because he trusted you to make decisions in his absence. The stakes are simply too high for you to hide behind him." 

McGonagall was not to be manipulated so easily. "You need information, you may interrogate him. How many times must I tell you that? But it will take place at this school, with a teacher and a legal guardian in attendance." 

Redwood flung up his hands. "Legal guardian--you mean his Death Eater mother that we're trying to locate?" 

McGonagall flinched, her eyes momentarily flickering in Snape's direction. "Agent Redwood, I advise you to watch your mouth!" She snapped. _Don't lose it,_ Snape entreated silently, as his predicament loomed over him. _You're my only hope here.._

"No, you watch your mouth!" Everyone in the room started at the force in Redwood's voice. Everyone tensed as he put a hand in his robes, but it was to draw out a sheaf of parchment, which he thrust onto McGonagall's desk. She picked up the pieces of parchment. 

"Warrants?" Her voice was shaking. 

"For most of the older students of Slytherin House," Redwood said in a low voice. "Alan Lestrange and Evan Rosier are prominent, for we have reason to suspect their actual involvement in Dark Arts activity; Avery, for witholding information; Mulciber, for-" 

"Is this a threat?" McGonagall exclaimed, cutting him off. 

"Only a statement of facts, Professor McGonagall," Redwood said calmly. "If Snape here can give us the information we need in time, we don't think we'll be needing to use those warrants." 

"You're bluffing," Baddock cut in angrily, speaking for the first time. "You know very well you can't arrest a dozen students on flimsy suspicions." 

"Does being in school automatically guarantee lily-white innocence?" Redwood's eyes flashed, and glanced briefly in Snape's direction, making him flinch. "I swear, Baddock, Professor McGonagall, I will do what I have to do, whatever you or Albus Dumbledore have to say about it." 

"You're trying to destroy Slytherin House!" Baddock pointed an accusing finger at the former Professor. He was trembling with fury. "The moment you publicly arrest Slytherin students, parents will be withdrawing their children, and the House will lose all credibility!" 

There was a short but pregnant silence following his outburst. 

"Agent Redwood, I refuse to give in to such threats," McGonagall said more calmly than before. "We here at the school are entrusted with the children's safety and well-being as well as their education; and I cannot allow a student to be pulled from the school without protection on the mere base of suspicion. Now please, accept our conditions for interrogation or leave us." 

"Fine," growled Redwood. "But we're not leaving by ourselves. We have the warrants, and we'll take these thirteen students with us." He pointed to her desk. 

"Agent-" McGonagall went even whiter, and she gripped the edge of her desk. 

"Send the summons now, Professor," barked the Auror. "Have these students brought here, and we will-" 

"But sir!" Exclaimed Longbottom, clearly outraged. 

"Bastard!" Yelled Baddock. 

"Stop it!" Snape heard himself shout over the uproar. "You're acting like idiots!" 

Immediately ten eyes shot in his direction, and none of their owners seemed in the mood to be called an idiot by a sixteen-year-old boy. He gulped. 

"I'll go with these gentlemen," he went on, trying not to choke on the sudden dryness in his throat. "It's the obvious solution. I don't know anything anyway, and they'll realize their mistake soon enough." Baddock was right--arrests of such a scale really would destroy Slytherin. As much as he loathed his Housemates, where would he belong if all the life was gone from the House? 

Redwood turned to McGonagall. "Voluntary accompaniment, Minerva," he said with infuriating calm. "You have only to give your assent." 

McGonagall's nostrils were white and flared; her fist was clenched in a white-knuckled grip. Severus had the sudden wild hope that she might break Redwood's Roman nose with a furious swing, but instead she said, "How soon can you return him, Agent Redwood?" with admirable (in Severus' eyes, disappointing) restraint. 

"By this time tomorrow, at the very least," Redwood replied. He was composed, confident--he knew he had won. 

"Very well," McGonagall nodded. "You have my permission to take him to Ministry headquarters for questioning. But don't," she added, "imagine you can get away with this." She was pale to the lips, but her severe tone never wavered. 

"Thank you, Professor," said Redwood. "He will be back unharmed." Somehow Snape didn't like the way he said that at all. 

"You're making a big mistake, Redwood." He felt strangely afraid even as he spoke, and he had broken out in cold sweat. "I haven't done anything." 

"That remains to be seen, young man," Redwood replied quietly. "Viridian!" 

Another Auror, his rank somewhere between Redwood and Longbottom by the looks of him, took a wallet from his pocket and approached Snape. "A Portkey," he explained. "It will take us directly to...our destination," he said. 

"We've wasted enough time," Redwood said impatiently. "Good evening, Professor." And he caught hold of the Portkey, as did Longbottom. 

Snape bit the inside of his lip. _Get a grip,_ he told himself. _Do you want to see Slytherin House in shambles? Besides, you don't know anything._ He placed his own hand on the Portkey. 

Viridian put his wand to the wallet to activate it, and McGonagall's study disappeared with a lurch.   
  


* * *

"And what did the letter say?" 

"It said that our mother had been hexed, and was unconscious in the hospital, at St. Mungo's. He asked me to come see her." His mind was in a haze--it had been that way ever since he had been made to swallow some liquid that looked like water, but was not. A Truth Potion, most likely. 

"I see. What were you eating at the time?" 

Not for the first time, Snape thought Redwood must have gone mad. This was only in the back of his head, however; mostly, his head heard the questions, remembered, and spoke the answers. It was all automatic, and he had no control. "Mussel soup, Cornish bread, eggs," he dimly heard himself say in a flat, toneless voice. 

"How did you get to London?" 

"I went out to Hosmeade and took the Knight Bus." 

"How many passengers were there?" 

"Two that I could see. Also the driver and the conductor." 

"Where did you get off?" 

"London." 

"Where in London?" 

"At the gates of St. Mungo's Hospital." 

"What did the witch at the reception desk look like?" 

The small part of Snape's mind that he still controlled felt like strangling the man. The rest of his mind searched his memory quickly, and found nothing. "I don't know," he replied dully, automatically. 

There was a pause. Redwood and Viridian looked at each other. 

"What was the number of the room your mother was in?" 

"I don't know." 

"What was the color of the wallpaper in the hallways?" 

"I don't know." Strangely enough, he really didn't. He had answered these ridiculous questions about small details quickly enough up to now... 

"How did your mother look, when you went in to see her?" 

"I don't know." 

"Was your brother with her?" 

"I don't know." Had he been able to, he would have fabricated details smoothly, but he couldn't stop himself from talking, or change the words. 

"Were there any flowers by her bedside?" 

"I don't know." 

"What time did you leave the room?" 

"I don't know." Great wizards, why _didn't_ he know all this? He had been there! 

"What time did you board the Knight Bus back to Hosmeade?" 

"A quarter to seven in the evening." Finally something had come back. 

He answered the rest of the questions, both the relevant and the ridiculous ones, with perfect equanimity. Under the influence of the Truth Potion he remembered details he hadn't even been aware of at the time--so why didn't he recall any details about the hospital visit? Weird, he thought blearily. 

The Aurors were conversing among themselves, huddled together and speaking low. As he sat listlessly and wondering when the potion would wear off, their words drifted to his ears. 

"Boy modified his own memory, ..." 

"Clever.. but young...inexperienced.." 

"The hospital visit's the key...possible contact..." 

"So how...get through the Memory Charm?" 

"Probing mind.. reconstruction of..." 

"That could take days--we have no time." One voice suddenly became decisive and loud. It was Redwood. 

"Sir, but there's no other way." As the Aurors broke apart and their voices were raised, Snape could hear every word now. 

Again, Redwood and Viridian exchanged looks. "Yes, there is, Longbottom," said Viridian. 

Longbottom seemed to have caught on. "No," he said, horrified. "No, you can't mean that. You _can't_--" 

"Longbottom." Redwood's voice was firm. 

"Sir, I can't let you do such a thing. I'm going straight to Moody, or anyone. You simply cannot do this!" 

"What will you have us do?" Redwood said, his voice rising still more. "All we know is that an attack is planned for this morning. We don't know whom it's against, or where they plan to strike, or where they are. All we know is that those two Snapes, who Moody is out searching for even this moment, are involved. We have seven hours at best, and without more information we don't know where to strike or whom to protect--and people will die, Longbottom!" He was shouting now, his face livid, the long white scar twitching angrily. 

"We cannot fall to their level!" Longbottom was shouting back into his boss's face now. "The boy here isn't even a suspect! If we start treating people as means to an end, what's the difference between an Auror and a Death Eater?" 

At his words, an icy silence descended over the room. 

"Agent Viridian," Redwood said with deadly calm after what seemed like an eternity, "have Longbottom removed from this building. I will deal with him later." 

"No!" Longbottom glanced at Snape then back to Redwood, real anger and resolution in his voice now. "You can't do this. You can punish me--have my apprenticeship revoked, if you like--but I'll stop you, somehow." 

Viridian raised his wand. "_Kastasortia Auroro!_" He said, and Longbottom's form shimmered briefly and disappeared. 

Snape hardly heard the spell--he was drowning in a sea of heartbeats, the pounding of his heart filling his head and ears, making his fingers twitch as he sat helplessly. Every nerve was screaming at him to run, yet his muscles would not respond. 

Redwood came sat down across from him, his wand hand resting lightly on the wooden table. The one source of light in the room, a lamp hanging from the ceiling above the table, cast long shadows on his face. 

"No hard feelings, Snape," he said. "But people's lives are at stake here. I hope you'll understand someday." Then he leveled his wand squarely at the pale boy and said, "_Crucio._" 

And Severus Snape's world exploded in pain. 

  



	8. Fair Exchange

A/N: Shanna Seanachai, you guessed it! How did you know? And Morrighan, I just slapped words ogether.._kasta_ is Old Norse, etymological root of 'cast.' With _sortia_ I just kinda meant 'out.' Y'know, as in French? _Auroro_ means 'shine like the sunrise' in Latin, as _aurora_ means sunrise, one of which the word 'Auror' must derive from. So the spell's just a sublimated version of "Chuck out this Auror." 

  


**I Was Right**

**Chapter 8: Fair Exchange**

  


_This is not pain._

Pain is a natural defense, an alert for danger and damage. If a person could not feel pain, he could lose his extremities, such as fingers, without even feeling it. Without sensing pain, safety and well-being would be impossible. It is Nature's way of warning and informing every form of animal life, whether magical or Muggle. 

And this was not pain. It was an abomination of the senses. 

Snape dimly sensed he was on the floor now, cowering against a corner with the two Aurors standing over him. That he could think at all meant he was not under the spell just then, but the residue of torment continued to course intensely through his body, tearing through bone and muscle, searing his insides. 

"What did the letter you received over breakfast say?" 

"I already told you, it-" he said. 

"I don't think so. _Crucio._" 

An uncontrollable spasm seized his whole body, paralyzing him. The strain on his muscles was unbelievable. Soon bones would snap and sinews be torn.. 

"What did the letter say?" The voice came from high above, but also from deep within. The light from the lamp ripped into his eyes as he jerked from pain running white-hot through his body. And something was floating up from the darkest depths, something never meant to be recalled... 

He scrabbled for it, fought the resisting mucus of his mind, and the answer came to him. It did not strike him as odd that it was a different answer than the ones he had given before--all he cared was that _this_ might stop, he might be rewarded if this was right. It had to be. It had to be.. 

"It said-" he gasped for breath as his chest constricted unbelievably, robbing him of air. Redwood lowered his wand. Then the muscles relented, slowly relaxing from a degree of constriction they had never been meant for. 

"It said, 'Severus, come immediately to London. Follow the directions below to get here. To any eyes but yours this letter will seem to say that Mother is ill in the hospital and that you must come to London to see her. Just to be on the safe side, do not let Dumbledore see this letter. We trust you will act with prudence and the utmost secrecy. We need your help. Sincerely, Septimius.'" 

Redwood and Viridian looked like they had struck gold. Would they stop, now? 

No. This was not what they were looking for. This was only a first. 

"Did you do as the letter said?" 

"Yes," it came out a dry sob. With the combined effects of the Truth Potion and the Cruciatus Curse, things locked under the Memory Charm came flooding back. How could he have gone, just like that? So trusting and gullible? 

"What happened when you went there?" 

"I..I.." Redwood had only to raise his wand slightly, and the words spilled out. "They put the Imperius Curse on me." They had given him a chance to do the job of his own free will. Knowing he had to get out of there, he had agreed, resolving to report them the moment he left the place--but had not counted on there being a mind-reading witch among them. 

Redwood was unrelenting. "Why?" 

"They needed me to make one last preparation for their biggest..prey. A grownup would attract more attention, and it was dangerous for them to venture from the house." 

"Who is this prey?" 

"Barty Crouch." 

There was a sharp intake of breath. Redwood recovered first. 

"And what did you do?" 

Snape paused. How could he say it, when he couldn't even bear to think of it? The answer came in another bout of agony. Trembling one moment from uncontrollable cold, smothered by intense heat the next, he blurted it out. 

"I went to the Ministry and killed a man...an aide, Terence Crockford." He could never remember striving so hard as he did then, trying to throw off the Imperius Curse. But his attempts at drawing the Ministry workers' attention had failed--and under Septimius' control he had found the man in an isolated hallway...Stunned him...and then... 

"I cut off his hair for Polyjuice Potion, then killed him with the Killing Curse. I Disintegrated his body so he would not be missed. Then I went back to the house and had my memory modified." He spoke without emotion, not quite believing what he was saying. This couldn't be himself he was talking about...could it? Yet he saw the man's blank face, his look of slight surprise so clearly now. _Please,_ he thought, _Please stop.._

"Crockford? Then we have an imposter at the Ministry...right at Mr. Crouch's side?" Redwood's voice was harsh with shock. "Viridian--contact the Ministry immediately." Viridian turned away, fumbling with his Auror badge. 

He wasn't sure how much more interrogation he could bear now. He was completely drained, mind and body, and was dangerously close to breaking down or fainting. He tried in vain to stop himself from convulsing. 

"What was the address Septimius gave you?" 

"No, please--I don't know--" he couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't remember...the location must be guarded under an even stronger Memory Charm...he couldn't remember.. 

"Where was it?" And Redwood's voice took on an even steelier note, if that was possible. "_Crucio._" 

Somebody screamed _No_, and the lamp shattered, the light fragments exploding, leaving only darkness within and without. 

Darkness, and the abomination.   
  


* * *

He woke with a terrible start, fear and dread such as he had never known coursing through his veins, threatening to implode his heart. Instinctively he raised his hands above his head, a futile gesture of self-defense. 

He was alone. Fragments of a lamp lay scattered on the table and the floor around it, and one cut into his palm as he propped himself up. 

He had vomited from the pain before passing out. His robes stank, and he was sick again from the smell. Leaning his head against the corner he retched helplessly, sickly yellow stomach fluid spurting from his parched lips because there was nothing else to throw up. 

His mouth and lips stung hideously from the acidic liquid, and once his insides settled down he reached up to feel dry, encrusted blood--he had nearly chewed through his lips and the inside of his mouth. Had it been that bad? 

He closed his eyes, exhausted, but could not sleep. He didn't know how many minutes, hours, or days he had been tortured--_don't think about it_--but he seemed to have babbled some directions to a place on(or under) Knockturn Alley at last, and Redwood had rushed out, issuing orders over his shoulder. 

"Contact Agent Moody immediately. Collect as many men as you can, in plainclothes and other disguises, find that place and have it surrounded without the occupants knowing." 

"But sir, it might be a ruse," Viridian had followed his boss out without giving a second look at Snape sitting hunched on the floor, limp and unresponsive after having passed out several times in a row. 

"Not if they didn't anticipate our questioning the boy. They don't seem to have, judging from the hasty job on the Memory Charm." The voice had come from far away, and was cut off abruptly as the door clanged shut and the lock clicked. 

Now, the sour taste of acid still in his mouth, Snape found himself wondering what time it was, and whether class had started. He had Charms first thing in the morning--he couldn't afford to miss that class... 

_Don't think about anything else,_ he ordered himself. _Nothing happened. I only have to worry about classes and midterms. Nothing else._ He thought very hard about human transfiguration, and his unfinished History of Magic essay. He was only a hairbreadth away from insanity, he knew, from caving in from the horror and--he looked away--using one of these glass fragments lying about. 

And why shouldn't he? 

_Because--_he groped about, trying to give a name to the one point of light still in his field of vision. 

_Lily. Because Lily is waiting at Hogwarts. _

Breathing grew easier, though he still ached all over. Lily. 

So concentrate on living, on breathing. Concentrate on homework and getting to classes, and on not looking at the glass pieces. What time is it? Flitwick will have my head if I'm late.   
  


* * *

Severus Snape was more or less in one piece when he Portkeyed back to McGonagall's study at eight thirty in the morning, less than twelve hours after he had left. They had fixed up the places where he'd bitten himself and got cut on shards of glass from the broken lamp, cleaned him up, and given him fresh school robes. (Did they keep a supply around, he had wondered idly.) The workers there seemed strangely elated, though nervous, about something that was going on. There had been a flurry of activity...He steered his thoughts clear of that. 

"Snape!" Professor McGonagall stood up, alarmed, when Snape appeared. Queasy and dizzy from the trip, he fetched himself up against her desk, gasping for breath. 

Someone grasped him firmly by the shoulders and sat him down on a chair. He looked up to see Professor Baddock's face, white with dark circles under the eyes. 

Both Professors looked like they had been there all night, waiting for him, as most likely they had. He felt suddenly and idiotically grateful. 

"Snape, are you quite all right?" McGonagall looked faint and deprived of sleep, but still upright and severe. Again, he was insanely grateful--she was the same, before and after. She had not changed. _Nothing has,_ he reminded himself. 

"Yes, Professor," he said, careful to keep the weariness out of his voice. 

"Did they question you?" 

"What do you think?" He gripped the sides of his chair to keep from keeling over as a sudden and deadly wave of fatigue rushed over him. "That they took me away for dinner? Of course they questioned me--and made idiots of themselves in the process." 

A short pause. "There will be a formal complaint," McGonagall said at last. "An inquest-" 

"Forget it," Snape spat. "He won't try that stunt again in a hurry, not after the way he made an ass of himself in front of his inferiors." He had to lie; he couldn't admit what had happened, because he would then have to admit the things he had done--by his own hands, if not under his own will. Redwood knew that. He knew his dirty little secret was safe. 

McGonagall scrutinized him. "All right, then. I won't keep you--you look dead on your feet. You may take the day off." 

"No. I don't need it." Nothing good had ever happened when he was excused from classes, anyway. "I don't need rest." 

"Then surely, a bit of breakfast.." 

"No," he said with vehemence, before she could raise her hand to conjure food. The very thought of food turned his stomach. "They-they fed me. I'll go straight to class. Charms." 

"Snape," she was looking at him with real concern now, as was Baddock. "Are you quite certain you're all right?" 

"I'm fine!" He cried, and stood up, trying not to sway. "What do you care? They won't be using those blasted warrants, will they, Professor McGonagall? And Slytherin house is safe now, isn't it, Professor Baddock? All's well that ends well, as the Muggle saying goes. Now excuse me, I have a class to get to." 

He left, closing the door behind him with a shaking hand. _Everything's back to normal. Everything has always been normal._

But the shadows and dark nooks in the hallways had never seemed so fearsome, and the way to the Charms classroom had never seemed so long and difficult.   
  


* * *

Next day, the _Daily Prophet_ announced AURORS THWART MINISTRY OFFICIAL'S ASSASSINATION in huge, triumphant letters. The _Evening Prophet_ had reported it the day before, of course, but only bits and fragments--this was the first full report for the wizarding public. 

"The Aurors in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement had intercepted information of a pending strike only two days in advance," Sirius Black read jubilantly. His voice carried all the way to the Slytherin table. The teachers didn't bother to make him quiet down--they, too, were too busy grinning, poring over the paper, or listening to him. 

Except three of them, that is--Professors McGonagall, Baddock, and Dumbledore seemed subdued as they ate, Dumbledore's eyes without their usual twinkling light but gleaming with a different light as they glanced at his pocket watch once or twice. 

"However, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement managed to obtain vital information at the very last moment: Aurors discovered that the plot was against none other than Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At the same time discovering the existence of a Death Eater pretending to be Terence Crockford, Mr. Crouch's personal aide, the Aurors attempted to arrest him--but he committed suicide. Tragically, the real Terence Crockford was found to have been murdered and his body disposed of. The Aurors have vowed that this horrific murder will not go unpunished. 

"The Aurors also learned the whereabouts of the Death Eaters who were planning the attack. Yesterday morning Aurors and Hit Wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement raided the secret hideout located in Knockturn Alley, taking the Death Eaters by surprise. Four were arrested, and are currently in custody. Two Death Eaters were killed in the fighting, and three escaped. Several Aurors and Hit Wizards sustained injuries, none of them serious. 

"Mr. Crouch praised the work of the wizards and witches in his department, thanking them both for saving his life and preventing the chaos his assassination surely would have caused. This triumph comes after a long spate of defeats against You-Know-Who, and the Ministry is confident that his and his supporters' winning streak will be broken after the loss of manpower, information, and morale they suffered yesterday." 

Snape snorted as cheers and applause broke out across the Great Hall. Winning streak broken, indeed! Did they know _anything_ of what they were against? 

He had gotten a copy of the paper for himself and checked the names of those arrested-- none of them would know enough to give the Ministry any meaningful intelligence. From what he had seen, they were too low in the ranks of Death Eaters to be much of a loss. He had no doubt about the identity of the three who escaped. Now _those_ would have been a catch, the two Snapes and a mind-reader, but the Ministry was too busy patting itself on the back to notice. 

If he had any filial and fraternal obligation left, he would have been glad Mother and Septimius had escaped. But he had neither--not since they had used him as a puppet for their acts of violence and left him to the tender mercies of the Aurors. 

He looked down at his food, what little appetite he had mustered gone. _Obtained vital information at the very last moment ... Knockturn Alley..._ He knew how the 'vital information' had been obtained at the 'very last moment.' He knew why Redwood had been so desperate to break the Memory Charm in time that he had used one of the Unforgivable Curses. 

Worst of all, he knew who had murdered Terence Crockford... 

There was a cry of surprise next to him, and he was mildly surprised to see that his soup had become dotted with blood, and that people were staring when he looked up. He put a hand to his lip and realized he must have been biting it again, for it was bleeding. 

"What are you staring at?" He snarled, and got up abruptly. Other freshly healed cuts were bursting inside his mouth, and he rushed outside, wanting nothing more than to wash out the foul taste of blood. 

After rinsing his mouth several times, he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There were blue-black circles under his eyes--the result of sleeplessness. The night before he had made the mistake of trying to sleep, judging himself to be tired enough after a day of classes. An hour and a half later, he'd woken half the dorm with screaming nightmares. Afterward he had thrown off all inquiries angrily and stormed down to the common room, where he had worked furiously on his History of Magic essay the rest of the night. 

He had not gotten two hours of sleep since Redwood had gotten through with him. He didn't know how he would get through classes yet another day, but he had to. He couldn't have anyone suspecting... 

He came out of the bathroom, retrieved his book bag from the table among the Slytherins' stares, and had just emerged from the Great Hall when he caught the most unwelcome sight imaginable. 

Redwood. 

He stood in the hallway, surrounded by Potter and his cronies, and Lily. 

"Professor Redwood! What are you doing here?" Potter asked, clearly glad to see him. 

"You're looking healthy, James." Redwood flashed a smile. "I came to see Professor Dumbledore--we have an appointment." 

"We read about yesterday's raid," Black said, as excited as an overgrown puppy. "It was all over the _Daily Prophet_!" 

"Oh, yes. Reporters haunted the Ministry all day yesterday. They were harder to get rid of than the Death Eaters," Redwood chuckled. 

"Could you tell us about it?" Lupin asked, his voice quiet yet elated. 

"Just one big confusion, really--it was an inferno of dueling, Death Eaters leaping out everywhere. We were lucky not to have lost any men." 

"I heard Frank was apprenticed under you. Was he there, too?" Asked Potter eagerly. 

"Ah yes," and Redwood's voice became slightly more somber. "He saved my life yesterday, and those of several others. He was also a tremendous help in the action...I expect he'll be promoted out of his apprenticeship any day now. Powerful wizard, Longbottom, and sound principles..." 

"Man, I can't wait to graduate!" Black burst out. "Kick some Death Eater butt and all. Frank's getting all the action!" 

"Easy, Padfoot," laughed Potter. "I imagine there'll be more than enough butt to kick in your turn." There was a slight lull after this statement, but nothing could really dampen their spirits for long. They had had too little to celebrate as it were. 

"Were you or Frank hurt, sir?" Lily asked concernedly. 

"I've got a little something to remember yesterday by," Redwood laughed, patting his upper arm, "and Frank got a scratch, too. But like the _Prophet_ says, there's no one seriously injured on our side." 

Snape, watching as if transfixed, mentally shook himself. He wasn't afraid of old Scarface. He'd show them. He went over to them. 

"Consorting with your admirers again, Potter?" He sneered. "Gloating, eh? Potter must always bask in glory, even reflected glory, musn't he." 

"Get lost, Snape," Potter replied. 

"Well, I'd best get going, now," said Redwood easily. "Dumbledore must be expecting me." 

Snape looked disdainfully his way, as if noticing him for the first time. "Oh, you," he said. "I wasn't expecting _you_, Agent...Redwood, isn't it? What are you doing in school? Come to beg for your old job back?" 

"Se-" Lily started to say, then changed to "Snape!" at a warning glance from him. "Professor Redwood is here to see the headmaster." 

Ignoring her, he turned to Redwood again. "So tell me, Redwood," he said conversationally, "do you really believe you can make up for having your entire family wiped out if you save enough lives?" 

"Why, you git-" Black launched himself forward, only to have Lupin and Potter hold him back. 

"Get stuffed, Snape," Pettigrew said bravely. 

"You," Snape hissed, "would have already run miles away if it weren't for your big friends. Now shut up--people are trying to have a conversation here." He turned back to Redwood. "Well? Do you cry at night, thinking of them, Ryder my boy?" He mocked. "Doing anything it takes to thwart the Dark Arts and to save people, trying to save your own soul?" 

There was a brief silence. Ryder Redwood stood stone-faced and silent. "What?" Snape went on in the same mocking voice. "Cat got your tongue, like during those two years after your family all snuffed?" 

"Snape, SHUT-" 

Redwood held up a hand, silencing a furious Potter. "Perhaps you're right. I can't run away from the six-year-old that lost his family--but Snape, neither can you run from what you are. You can only fight it, if you have the strength. Now excuse me, please." He turned to go, Snape giving him a look of hatred that would make anyone who saw it flinch. 

"You boys stay out of trouble--if that's possible," Redwood said, grinning, to Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew as he departed. "And you, Lily, I'll expect to hear next year that you've been made Head Girl." At which she colored brightly. 

He disappeared down the hall, and Snape, with one last contemptuous glare in his and Potter's direction, spun around and left. 

"Ignore him, Sirius," he heard Potter say. "Just ignore him. He's not worth a thought." 

"He's gone too far," Black growled. "Someday he'll pay for this--" 

Ignoring the other students' angry, disgusted glares and Lily's hurt and confused look, Snape went down to Potions, walking blindly as Redwood's words rang in his ears. _Neither can you run from what you are... What you are..._

  


_What am I?_ He started, and his knife slipped and sliced into his finger instead of the wormwood root he was supposed to cut. He stared as the blood seeped out. He had dozed off again. It was terribly hard to stay awake. Then, remembering, he pulled the blade out of his finger, which started to bleed in earnest. 

"Snape!" Zabini's horrified voice brought him back to his senses. "Staunch that cut and go to Madam Pomfrey immediately! What _are_ you thinking of?" 

Wordlessly he stood up, held a rag to the bleeding cut, and swept out. 

He did not go to the hospital wing, though. He locked himself into an empty classroom and sat down carelessly. He performed a simple Wound-Closing Charm on the cut and watched it heal, though not very cleanly. He didn't care. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I tried." His eyes stung and his throat ached with threats of tears, but he clutched at the bloodsoaked rag and looked straight ahead, determined not to cry. "I tried not to be what I am," he said more steadily, though still in a whisper. "And I failed. I made a false promise--forgive me, Lily." 

_We need your help._ Those four words on the letter from Septimius and he had flipped, telling himself that Mother and Septimius must really be in trouble, must really need his help. That they trusted him. 

And if Redwood had not forced the information from him, made him betray his family, Crouch might well have died. The wizarding world would have fallen into pandemonium. 

And he had killed a man. 

He could make excuses day and night, but the fact was--_the Imperius Curse could be fought._ And he hadn't had the strength. Terence Crockford had died because of his weakness. 

This was what he was--a creature of the Dark, everything about him, family, background, inclination, acquaintances, and now experience, pointing in one direction. The unclean taste of blood in his mouth, blood on his hands. _Junior Death Eater, if you like,_ mocked Septimius' voice. 

It was not a matter of decision; it was simply a matter of what he was, and what he would be dragged into. Defeatist as that sounded, he knew that now. The world was moving mercilessly, its cogs and wheels bearing down with crushing force--he was a fool if he believed he could defy the immense strength and bring his own will to bear. 

_Life is not a fairy tale,_ he thought, _not even for wizards._ He wanted nothing more than to believe Mother and Septimius would be caught or killed and he would have nothing more to do with them.. that he could beat all the odds and miraculously emerge the victor.. but somehow, he knew it would not be that simple. Knew, with the certainty of pain inflicted, and with forebodings born of concern for the first person he had ever truly cared for unconditionally and without twisted feelings. 

He could not drag her into the shadows. He couldn't make her face the darkness inside that he had looked into. 

He thought of this morning's _Daily Prophet_ article and what he had been through two nights ago, and suddenly an inhuman cackle escaped his throat. He doubled over, unable to stop himself. 

The exchange had been quite fair, after all--his hours of torture and a life. More than fair, as a matter of fact. The well-being of the magical community had to be taken into account as well, didn't it? 

Ah, yes, and there was one other weight to be counted on the scale, one more trade-off. 

"Good-bye, Lily," he whispered, and did not cry. 


	9. The Last Dream of My Soul

_Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. The quotes at the beginning end end of the chapter both come from _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens, from Sydney Carton's words to Lucie Manette._

  


* * *

_"If it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before yourself--flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be--he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. ..."_

* * *

  
  


**I Was Right**

**Chapter 9: The Last Dream of My Soul**

Professor Zabini looked up when he re-entered the classroom, and something about the look in his eyes seemed to make her uneasy. "Snape," she said uncomfortably, "You're wanted in the Headmaster's office. You may come back later to get your things." 

The Headmaster? Did this have something to do with Redwood being here? He certainly hoped not--he was in no mood for another encounter with the man-- 

All his worst predictions seemed to have the habit of coming true. When the door to Dumbledore's office opened silently to admit him, there he sat with Professors McGonagall and Baddock, looking unperturbed at the sight of Snape glaring at him in the doorway. 

"Severus," called Dumbledore, no twinkle in his light blue eyes, an unfamiliar gleam on his spectacles. "Come sit down." 

He did so, taking a seat as far away from Redwood as possible. 

"I need to know what happened two nights ago, when Agent Redwood and his men took you out of the school for questioning," said Dumbledore without preamble. 

"Happened?" Somehow, lying was more difficult under that piercing gaze. "Nothing happened, Headmaster. I was returned before the time Agent Redwood set, and I have no external injuries." _He will be back unharmed,_ eh? He should have known something fishy was going on then. 

"Severus, we need the truth," Dumbledore said, his tone very grave. "Was there no illegal activity in the course of the interrogation?" 

"So now you question my truthfulness?" _Of course, you'd be a fool not to,_ he thought sardonically. 

"No, Severus," the headmaster said quietly, "but we seriously question Agent Redwood's actions and their effect on you." 

"What is this, a courtroom?" Severus said, at the same time that Redwood said "This is not a courtroom, Professor Dumbledore." Snape grit his teeth. _Great,_ he thought, _now I go around agreeing with this bastard._

"Nothing _happened,_ Headmaster, aside from the fact that Agents Redwood and Viridian made idiots of themselves, since I knew nothing," he went on quietly. He couldn't afford to have his role in the assassination attempt revealed. It was as if he and Redwood had an unspoken agreement--_you keep my secret, and I keep yours..._ "I accompanied them voluntarily with Professor McGonagall's permission, so there is no question of kidnap." 

"And the threats?" Baddock spoke up suddenly. "If he had not threatened to arrest Slytherin students, Headmaster, Snape would never have gone with them." 

"Then sue him on that, and leave me out of this," Severus snapped. Though he seriously doubted that would be enough to get him in Azkaban, or even cost him his job. "Now if you'll excuse me-" 

"There is another point I have come to discuss," Redwood said loudly, something about his tone of voice implying that Snape was _not_ dismissed. "And that is one-fourth of the Hogwarts student population being a--less than wholesome influence on the school." 

"You mean Slytherin House." McGonagall said. It was not a question. 

Baddock said, "So Barty Crouch decided you'd be better off in the Department of Magical Education?" 

"Please, Matt," Dumbledore said wearily. Evidently he had had enough of Baddock and Redwood's squabbling. "And Ryder-" 

"On the contrary, Professor Baddock," Redwood said smoothly, "this is quite a serious concern for magical law enforcement. Does it occur to you, Professor Dumbledore," he turned to the Headmaster, "that, by giving Slytherin free rein, you are educating and housing potential Dark wizards and witches under these roofs?" 

Nobody spoke for a moment. Then, predictably, Baddock exploded. He stood up with such force that the chair he was sitting in was knocked back. "How DARE you!" He shouted, trembling in anger. "Headmaster, I say we throw out this--this--" 

"Matthew, calm yourself!" Exclaimed Professor McGonagall as she stood up herself, straightening the chair with a wave of her wand and trying to seat her colleague down on it; but she, too, looked angry and confused. 

"What are you suggesting that we do, Ryder?" Dumbledore said, his voice quiet but dangerous. His eyes had that glint they had seen the day of the Welcoming Feast, when Baddock and the Slytherins had walked out. 

"A thorough background research, a search for illicit material, and heightened surveillance for the students in question," Redwood said coolly. 

"And no doubt a great deal of weeding out," Snape said in a low voice. It was only logical--after that close shave with disaster, Redwood must have realized there was a gaping hole in security in one of the safest places in the wizarding world; the school that Albus Dumbledore ran. 

The others in the room stared at him for a moment, then back at Redwood. Finally Baddock spoke again. "Headmaster, this man is mad. He has always been prejudiced against Slytherin House-" 

"Prejudice? Are you certain?" Redwood's eyes gleamed dangerously. "I heard about your most interesting demonstration at this year's Welcoming Feast. Professor Dumbledore, do you really think it wise, a man sympathetic to the Dark Arts teaching _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts?" 

If the situation had not been so grave, Snape would have slapped a hand to his forehead. Of course! How could he have missed it? With his maniacal commitment to fighting the Dark Arts and his powerful magic, of course Redwood had always grudged the Defense Against the Dark Arts position to Baddock. To think Redwood had been stuck potting plants and digging fertilizer while a teacher--the Head of Slytherin, no less--with more seniority held his dream job! It was hysterical--no wonder he had wanted to resign. He felt like laughing out loud. 

"Ryder, there is something you do not understand," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding mild but giving off an aura of strength that even Redwood could not disobey. "Sit down, Matt, Minerva." They did so immediately. 

"Slytherin House has turned out more Dark wizards and witches than any other Hogwarts House. I know this, and it has been pointed out to me not a few times. I have been told that Slytherin students are dangerous, that they are a bad influence. And that is the exact reason I will never let go of them." 

Everyone except McGonagall stared at him for a moment at this strange statement. McGonagall seemed to know what he was talking about, though, and nodded emphatically. 

"I am aware, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, of the great responsibility I bear for not only the education of children but for their future--and hence, the future of the wizarding world." He spoke without pomp and without fanfare; he said it simply, even a little wearily. Severus was suddenly aware of how old and tired he looked, with his wrinkled face and his long, white beard. 

"And because of this responsibility, I cannot let students who are at greater risk out of my sight. It is in the shadows that toadstools grow pale and twisted; I will not banish any of my students away from sunlight, or drive them away from the influences of Hogwarts to that of their respective backgrounds and other forms of magical education." 

_Oh, _thank_ you,_ Snape thought sarcastically. _Toadstool? That is the most flattering thing I've heard all day._ Yet he was strangely moved, and had to fight to keep his face impassive. 

"More importantly, Agent Redwood, Matt, Minerva, and Severus," the Headmaster said, looking at them in turn, "I wish you all to understand that Slytherin House is a fundamental pillar of Hogwarts as the other three Houses are. There would be no Hogwarts without Slytherin, just as there would be no Hogwarts without Gryffindor." 

There was a long, pregnant silence, the Headmaster looking gentle and benign as usual, the faces of the teachers and the Auror unreadable. 

"I understand, Headmaster," Baddock said at last, his voice low but audible. Snape was surprised at the look of the deepest respect he was giving Dumbledore--it was so different from what he had seen during the past two months. He was now beginning to understand how Dumbledore commanded the unconditional loyalty and respect of so many wizards and witches. 

Redwood stood up abruptly. "I understand your sentiments, sir," he said brusquely. "I will report your position on this matter to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." 

Dumbledore rose to see him off. "Give Mr.Crouch my regards," he said as they shook hands. Redwood nodded curtly, and was gone. 

"Well then, you are dismissed, Severus," the Headmaster said, the usual light slowly coming back to the eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. "Have a good day--and please remember, come to me anytime you need my help." 

Severus left the office, feeling slightly better, but he still had misgivings. They wouldn't move in too quickly with Albus Dumbledore taking such a firm stance about the matter...but how long would even Dumbledore be able to hold them off? He had enough on his hands as it were--and he had a feeling that Dumbledore's voice of reason would not hold off the backlash from popular opinion and public fear. 

Late that night, he discovered it did not hold off nightmares, either.   
  


* * *

During the week that followed, subtle but alarming changes came over Severus--it was as if a rather nasty boy had turned into another creature altogether, like a bat or a vulture. He became terribly thin from eating and sleeping too little; his eyes, when he cared to look at people at all, were chillingly cold and hollow; he developed an almost appalling lack of care for personal appearance. If he had not always been withdrawn and unpleasant people would have noticed something was wrong, but most just thought the upcoming exams were getting to him. 

One person would have known it was nothing of the sort, of course, and Severus took great measures to avoid her like the plague. 

Nevertheless, one day after class he was slinking down to the dungeons alone when she cornered him squarely. 

"Severus, we need to talk," said Lily, a determined look in her eyes that he knew only too well. "You've been avoiding me, and I know something is wrong with you." 

"Obviously," he drawled. "Something would _have_ to be wrong with a boy to be avoiding the beautiful and intelligent Lily Evans." How was he going to do this, anyway? Saying good-bye to Lily was the last thing on Earth he wanted to do, especially when he needed her now more than ever. Yet he had to... 

She shook her head impatiently, then closed in before he could say anything, caught hold of his arm, and yanked the sleeve of his robes up to his elbow. He winced and looked away, knowing what he would see. 

"Look, you're all skin and bones!" She sounded shocked even though she had obviously known what she would find. "And I heard the Slytherins talking--you don't sleep at night. What do you think you're doing to yourself, anyway?" There was an edge of anger in her voice, but it was anger born of concern. This made him feel even worse. He pulled away angrily, jerking his sleeve down as he did so. He still looked away determinedly, hiding behind a sheet of greasy hair--he couldn't meet her eyes, not now, not ever. 

"It has something to do with the Auror raid, doesn't it," she asked, making a statement, not a question. "You haven't been yourself since that morning." 

She was too sharp for her own good. "It's none of your business," he muttered, wishing desperately he could get away. 

"Tell me, Severus." 

And suddenly it occurred to him that he might as well tell her, at least part of it. If she knew what he had done, she might be revolted enough to never want to see him again. He looked up suddenly, and his eyes flashed malevolently. "If you wish to know, I was the one who killed Terence Crockford. I used the Killing Curse on him, then the Disintegration Curse." 

He could tell she had suddenly stopped breathing. Then she said in a strangled voice, "No. No. You're..." 

He turned on her fiercely, making her step back this time. "Joking? Would I joke about a thing like this? Do I look mental to you?" 

"What happened?" She asked, her voice steadier now. 

"I already told you what happened!" He nearly shrieked. "_I murdered a man._" 

"But Agent Redwood came today, and you're still here," she went on, using her reason, as usual. And at that moment he hated her for not running away for fear and loathing. 

"Redwood knows," he mumbled, then realized he had made a mistake. 

"But then why?" He could see her working things out, her eyes glittering in torchlight as she put two and two together. "Unless...you didn't do it of your own free will. Unless you were threatened into it. Or--" her eyes widened, lighting up--"they used the Imperious Curse on you." 

He cursed, this time, her intelligence. How was he going to get out of this? "What does it matter?" He asked, almost desperately. "It doesn't change anything." 

"Yes, it does. Severus, they can't blame you for something you didn't do under your will." 

_But I blame myself,_ he said silently. 

"Nor should you," she said firmly, startling him. 

"It's no use," he said, trying to control his voice. "Li--Evans, I think--I don't think we should be seeing each other anymore." It came out suddenly, unplanned, but he knew he had to end this now, while he still could let go. He might never say the courage to say this again, and cling to her like a hideous fetter for life. 

When she did not answer, looking straight into his eyes without a word, he racked his head for reasons. "For one thing, I can't stay respectable as a Slytherin if I'm with a Gryffindor. I can't sneak around forever--and for another you're...we're...in love with other people. And.." he groped around--"I broke my promise to you, and I set you free." 

"Other people? Who're those?" Lily said, still calm. 

"James Potter and--Dahlia Mulciber." He spoke the first name that came to mind. 

"Codswallop, Severus," she said, her voice heating up a little, "I have never once seen her with you, and James and I are over! And about your promise--forget about it. It is not broken, and I know it won't be. Not after the way you've tormented yourself for something that's not even your fault. Severus," she said again, her voice lower, more determined, "I am never leaving you." 

At her words his heart was uplifted, then sank rapidly, then began to pound painfully. A lump formed in his throat, whether from sudden emotions or panic he couldn't tell. It was worse than being under the Cruciatus Curse. He had never loved her more than he did at that moment, and the knowledge of what he had to do nearly destroyed him. "'Never' is rather a strong word, Evans," he said coldly, forcing the words up through his throat. "You are only sixteen." 

"Yes, and in a year and a half, _we_ will be full-fledged wizards," she said, emphasizing the word 'we.' 

"Fine, then!" He burst out bitterly, "Ignore your true feelings and let your pity get the better of you! It's your loss and your life to ruin." He had to do something, and fast. Anything to sever the ties that those long shared hours and heartfelt talks had formed between them. 

"_Pity?_ How could you insult me like that? I don't have any feelings for James Potter!" She cried angrily, flushing for the first time. 

"Oh?" He said cruelly. "Was that why I was treated to the fabulous sight of you and Potter necking in the hallways at night?" 

_Please, Lily..._

At that, a deadly silence fell between them. Lily was now pale, looking almost like she would faint. "_You?_" She said disbelievingly, and as she looked at him her emerald eyes darkened. "_You_ set us up? It was so painful--so confusing--_you_ put me through that?" The act of conceived betrayal, he knew, would hurt her far more than any admittance of murder. It was just the kind of person she was--upright and true as steel, like a spear of light. 

"Saved you from quite a bit of trouble, too, by taking care of that beast of Pringle's." This would put all doubt from her mind, make it clear in her mind that he had not trusted her. 

_Please, Lily, don't remember me fondly. Don't miss me..._

"Severus, _why?_" Her voice trembled, as did her eyes, now dark and lightless. 

"Let's say I just wanted...a test of heart," he said smoothly. 

_Please, think of me only as a horrible mistake in your life._

"You never go without a reserve, a backup guy, do you?" He went on, his voice icy and sarcastic. "Always need a man drooling over you, don't you. What else is to be expected of a little Mudblood like yourself?" And he hated himself for his abominable words, hated her for being there in his thoughts when he was alone in the cell after his torture--if he had not had her to think of he would have slit his wrists open then and there and been spared this. 

_Don't ever once wonder _what if,_ don't ever have regrets, Lily, as I will have for the rest of my life._

She couldn't speak anymore; her eyes no longer saw him; he knew she only saw darkness, an endless void where the boy she thought she loved had stood. It was not so much his slanderous falsehoods and insults as the utter lack of care in his voice, the scorn that he exuded like a poisonous fog. 

She took a step back, horrified, and he suddenly caught her wrist and brought his face very close to hers. 

"Get out of here, you filthy little Mudblood," he whispered. "Get out of my life." 

_Out, before the darkness in my life catches up with you... oh, Lily..._

Then he threw her backward, and she stumbled and almost fell. She met his eyes once more, and he looked at her with the utmost hatred and disgust, as if he might curse her or spit on her; and she turned and fled down the dark hallway. 

He watched her go for a moment, then took out his wand. "_Nox totalus,_" he muttered, and the torches lighting the hallway flickered and went out; and he heard her cry out in fear and fall to the floor. Tangled in her robes, she struggled to get to her feet, and at that moment it took everything not to run to help her, cry out he was sorry, beg for forgiveness--he stood trembling, grateful for the darkness. 

After a short moment that seemed like hours to him she stood up with a sob and ran blindly away. As she ran, a cackling that did not sound quite human followed her, and a voice: "Run, Mudblood! Keep running--You'll need it in the days ahead." 

And the faint gleam of moonlight shining on red hair was gone, and he was left standing alone.   
  


* * *

_"...I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. ...Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent for ever. ... A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it."_

  



	10. All for the Best

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 10: All for the Best**

  


"Snape, I need a word with you." 

Snape, trailing his classmates out of Charms class, looked disinterestedly down his nose at the tall boy with unruly black hair who had just stopped him. He recognized the look in the other boy's eyes as danger, and he just didn't care. If James Potter recognized the deadened, hollow look in the other boy's eyes, he did not show it. 

"About Evans?" Snape's voice was a flat monotone. After spending a night loathing and cursing himself and wishing himself dead he did not have much emotion left to spare. 

"So you do have something to do with it?" Potter's teeth were clenched, and his eyes flashed. 

Turning from him Snape glided down the hall like some ill-boding shadow, threw open the door of an empty classroom, and stepped inside. Potter followed, they stood facing each other for a moment as the early morning sun drifted in through the dusty windows. 

"What," Potter said at last, breathing heavily, "have you done to Lily?" 

"Why not ask Evans herself?" Snape replied coldly. 

At this, a white-hot flare of anger erupted behind Potter's gaze. "She's in no condition to answer!" He grabbed the Slytherin by the front of his robes and slammed him against a wall. "She came in late last night for curfew and collapsed in the common room crying. This morning, she ran a fever so high she had to be taken to the hospital wing!" He was shouting now. 

_Lily..._

"Indeed," Snape said in a bored voice that never hinted at the pang he felt inside. "And am I supposed to know why?" 

"She called your name in the hospital wing," Potter growled, looking disgusted at the very remembrance. "And damn it, she's your girlfriend!" He slammed Snape harder against the wall. 

Snape laughed in his face, a cold and empty sound. "_That?_ My girlfriend? I found her useful, that was all. You won't believe some of the things she told me about you and your cronies," he lied. He felt light-headed and detached, as it were someone else being collared by an extremely angry Gryffindor, and a Quidditch player to boot. A half-crazy mood seized him, not unlike the suicidal urges he had felt at the interrogation cell a week before. "If it weren't for that, I wouldn't have gone near the filthy little Mudblood with a ten-foot pole." 

He smirked at the taken-aback look on his adversary's face. "You can have the Mudblood, for all I care." 

Potter's rage was reaching new heights. His grip on Snape's robes tightened, and Snape felt himself choking. His head spun and he gasped for air, but he made no attempt to free himself. Instead he stared insolently at the other boy, as if daring him to go further, to carry his fury to the utmost. 

"I swear," Jame's Potter's low, enraged voice seemed to come from a long distance away. "I swear I'll kill you if you ever insult Lily again." Then he released his grip, face pale from anger. 

At that moment Severus really did become suicidal, or maybe his sense of guilt had reached psychotic proportions and become a death wish; he smirked, and spat in the other boy's face. 

A short, disbelieving pause followed--then Snape felt himself flying to the floor and landing so hard his breath was knocked out of him. 

"Get up, Snape," snarled Potter's voice, but he couldn't move. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and his head spun crazily. "Get up!" There were vicious kicks in his side, then his jaw; and he was dragged up by the robes again and hurled toward the back of the classroom where he went down in an avalanche of desks and chairs. Potter jumped on top of him and began pounding him in earnest. 

It occured to Severus that Potter might manage to get himself expelled by getting him killed--which was something, almost enough to balance the fact that there would be no one to mourn his death. Perfect Potter with his rich, caring family and adoring friends, his grades and Quidditch--and now Lily. 

"James!" A panicked cry came from the door as it slammed open with a force that rattled the walls. That would be Sirius Black. There was the sound of a brief scuffle as Potter's weight was jerked off him. "What're you trying--ugh!--to do? Hold still! I thought it was _my_ job to do stupid things around here!" 

"Let me go, Sirius!" Potter was fairly screaming with fury. "That-" and he loosed a stream of invectives McGonagall, for one, wouldn't have liked at all. 

"Look, James, much as I'd love seeing you beat this piece of scum to pulp, don't bother putting him out of his misery, okay? He's not worth getting expelled for." 

_How apt,_ Snape thought as he slowly sat up. _Putting me out of my misery. And ruining his perfect life in the process._ He wiped his eyes, unable to see for the blood in them. His field of vision was still stained red as he looked up to see Potter and Black looking at him as they would a skinned serpent lying on the ground. With a short, bitter laugh he spit out a broken tooth and a mouthful of blood. "That the best you can do, Potter?" He sneered. 

Potter lunged again but Black held him in a death grip. "Go to the hospital wing, Snape," Black said through gritted teeth. "Get out of here fast, if you know what's good for you." 

With another mocking laugh Snape propped himself up on a fallen desk, then nearly blacked out when an intense stab of pain shot through him. A rib broken, most likely, he thought, as he ignored the pain and somehow stood up without losing consciousness. Breath coming in ragged gasps and heart pounding from the effort, he made his way to the door. Determined not to faint in front of Potter and his sidekick, dimly aware that he was bleeding heavily, he reached the doorway-- 

--And felt himself black out again, his senses slipping away even as he clutched at them. Inexorably his knees buckled under him, and his last thoughts as he toppled to the floor was that he wished he would never wake again. 

  


* * *

James left Sirius behind to clean up and half-dragged, half-carried a limp Snape to the infirmary. By the time he was at his destination he was exhausted both physically and emotionally. What had possessed him to lose it so spectacularly, anyway? He'd do it all over again, though, if Snape dared say such things about Lily again...he set his teeth, trying to get a hold on himself, and called for Madam Pomfrey. 

The school nurse seldom asked too many questions; she nodded curtly at his explanation that they'd been in a fight, and with her help he laid Snape on one of the beds. She checked him over, a grim look on her face. 

"Will he--be all right?" James asked hesitantly. Snape may be a creep but he really did look awful, unconscious and blood-spattered. 

"He'll live," grunted Madam Pomfrey. "It just looks worse than it is." She bustled around for bandages and potions, muttering something about "boys" under her breath. 

"And you, James?" She asked, turning to him suddenly. He, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had become a fixture at the hospital wing once almost every month since their fifth year, and by then she called them by their first names. 

"I'm--fine," he replied awkwardly. He might have been proud to have gotten off without a scratch, had there been a fight at all; as it was, Snape hadn't done a thing to defend himself or strike a blow in return. He had only taunted him, led him on. He didn't know how to explain Snape's eerie behavior--it was as if he had _wanted_ to be beaten up. 

"You do hold your own in a fight, don't you boy," she said almost admiringly; she didn't like Snape any better than most of the other people in the school. James didn't know what to say to that at all. 

"Is Lily gone?" He asked, changing the subject, looking around at the beds. 

"Yes," said the matron disapprovingly. "Her fever's gone down and she insisted she was fine. Mind you keep an eye on her," she added sharply. "Girls that age are extremely sensitive, and you never know what might shock them enough to make them ill." 

At that, James felt a hot knot of anger burning inside him again. He wished Snape were still on his feet so he could-- 

"_NOOOO_!" Suddenly an unearthly shriek split the air, and the sound of glass exploding followed. Instinctively James covered his face with an arm and turned away, the sharp reflexes born of his years as a Chaser coming to his aid; and his robes and the sleeve that covered his face were sprayed with glass sharpnel and liquid as a medicine bottle exploded on a table before him. 

He looked up as the shouts continued, this time forming coherent words. "No, I don't know where they are--please, _no_, please!" 

It was Severus Snape's voice, screaming. 

Madam Pomfrey rushed to Snape's side immediately, while another vial exploded, sending fragments all over the floor. 

"_Pacify!_" She shouted with a wave of her wand. Snape's voice faltered for a few moments, muttering, "I went to the Ministry...don't, no.." Then he suddenly said quite clearly: "I killed a man...an aide, Terence Crockford." 

James and Madam Pomfrey's eyes met, both bewildered, but the next moment Snape broke off, and his voice started to rise. "I don't..know..can't..Mothe--" and it escalated to a scream. The Pacifying Spell had worn off incredibly quickly. 

Madam Pomfrey snapped out of her shock and cried, "James, get the Headmaster! _Now._" 

He didn't need to be told twice. Glass crunching underfoot he dashed down the corridors, fleet and sure-footed as Prongs ever was. 

  


* * *

Albus Dumbledore looked very grave as he looked down at Snape, tossing and turning but no longer screaming. 

"He was shrieking that he didn't know where they were. He said things like 'Please don't' and once he called for his mother, I think," James explained in a low voice as they watched Madam Pomfrey caring for his wounds and administering various potions. 

"And some jars and vials exploded when he screamed." Wizards did have bursts of uncontrolled magic power when they were upset or angry, but this was rare once proper magical training began. Whatever made Snape go on like that must be bothering him a lot. He hesitated. Should he mention Terence Crockford? It was hard to believe, but Snape had said it so clearly... 

"Anything else, James?" Asked the headmaster, his voice gentle but his eyes piercing. For the umpteenth time, James thought of how impossible it was to hide things from Dumbledore. 

"Yes, he said--he said he killed Terence Crockford. Headmaster, d'you really think...?" 

But the conversation was interrupted when Madam Pomfrey turned to Dumbledore. "What do you suppose it can be, Headmaster?" She asked anxiously. "I have never seen anything like it." 

"Unfortunately, I have, Poppy," he replied heavily. "I had hoped never to see it again." 

"What _is_ it, then?" 

"That," said Dumbledore, "is the aftereffect of being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse." 

James stared at the headmaster, thunderstruck. What was he saying? It couldn't be... 

"It can't be," Madam Pomfrey said, echoing his thoughts. She had grasped the headboard of Snape's bed, looking pale and shaken. "Who would do such a thing?" 

"I'm afraid I may know the answer," said Dumbledore, and there was an undertone of cold fury in his voice that had not been there before. James wondered how he knew. Could it be the Death Eaters he was talking about? But why would Death Eaters torture Snape, who probably had family ties like most Slytherins did? There were rumors that his family had been involved in the assassination attempt against Crouch and were on the run... 

Madam Pomfrey drew herself up, visibly trying to compose herself. "What should I do?" She asked quite calmly. 

"Basically, there isn't much you can do for him. As he seems to have come through with his intellect and senses intact," he said, a bitterness in his tone James had never heard before, "time will have to do the rest. Lack of appetite and sleep deprivation may be a problem--did you give him the Dreamless Sleep potion?" She nodded. 

"Good. Administer it when he gets more nightmares. Keep him here for tonight, to make sure of his condition and to ascertain he won't--hurt himself." Again Dumbledore looked angry, though his voice was quiet and restrained. "And I would advise you to put breakable objects in cupboards under protection charms--and put protection spells on windows as well." 

"Yes, Headmaster," the matron said, cool and collected now that she knew what to do. "And now, I must ask you to leave." Her eyes, once again sharp and stern, went from Dumbledore to James. 

"We will leave you then, Poppy," Dumbledore said. "And James, please come with me." 

James followed, his stomach twisting itself into a knot. A Cruciatus Curse--on Snape? Somehow, he had always imagined Snape to be someone who'd be at the giving, not the receiving, end of Unforgivable Curses. It struck strangely close to home when even someone with Death Eater connections wasn't safe. 

No one was safe anymore. 

The winding staircase carried them up to Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore sat down and bade James to sit down as well. 

"I wished to talk to you," said Dumbledore, looking at James over his half-moon glasses very seriously-- James thought it was getting harder and harder to see that old twinkle in the headmaster's eyes-- "because it is important that you know the whole truth, and not a half-truth. Half-glimpsed truths and misunderstandings are perhaps the greatest source of damage, more than any outright falsehood." 

James nodded. Inevitably his thoughts were drawn to how good the Slytherins were at distorting real facts-- he'd learned that the hard way in his clashes with them. 

"I must talk to Severus to confirm my suspicions," the headmaster continued, "and I will inform you if I am wrong. But I am not. This makes everything clear," he said without triumph. He sounded as though he wished he were wrong. 

"I must begin with the night before the Aurors' raid on the Death Eaters, November the sixth, more than a week ago now. I was in London at the time, working with the Ministry to avert an attack that we had wind of, but knew very little about. Without my knowledge, Agent Redwood, with two other Aurors, came to the school to take Severus to Ministry headquarters for questioning. Neither Professor McGonagall or Professor Baddock were willing to let him go, of course, but the Aurors threatened to arrest thirteen other students otherwise. Slytherin students." 

James frowned. Aurors? But.. 

"Severus accompanied them and returned the next morning, at about the time the raid was going on. He insisted that he had known nothing and that the Aurors had been disappointed. He attended all his classes, and no one but Professors McGonagall and Baddock, and later myself, knew of the incident. 

"This planned attack, of which we had no information save that it was to take place on the morning of November the seventh--it happened to be the assassination plot against Mr. Crouch that you no doubt have read about in the paper. We learned this, and the presence of an imposter taking Mr. Crockford's place, and the whereabouts of the conspirators, all a few hours before the time Severus was returned to school." 

This took a moment to sink in. When it did, James slowly shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be. It had to be something else. It was not only illegal, it was despicable. And Professor Redwood of all people, who fiercely hated the Dark Arts and those who practiced it... 

"So you're saying," he said slowly, hoping Dumbledore would contradict him, "that the Aurors tortured Snape for information on the plot on Crouch's life?" 

"Yes." James' heart sank at the grave look on Dumbledore's face as he answered. His worst suspicions confirmed, he groped around for explanations. 

"But then--why didn't he cry foul? He'd jump at any chance to get Redwood behind bars--oh," he said as another thought struck him. "Is it because...Terence Crockford..." 

Dumbledore nodded again. 

"But that doesn't make sense," James went on feverishly, trying to piece things together. Dumbledore just watched him quietly, as if trying to see how far he could go on his own. "Because then why wasn't he arrested?" It was strangely troubling to think of Snape as a murderer, nasty though he was. But was he a murderer? "Headmaster, are you thinking--" 

Not for the first time, Dumbledore seemed to be reading his mind. "Yes, James. There are more Unforgivable Curses than one. I am nearly certain that is why Mr. Snape was not arrested--and why he is keeping quiet." 

Somehow, he felt better and worse at the same time at that. Better, because he knew Snape wasn't guilty; worse, because this explained some of his odd behavior. "If he was acting under the Imperius Curse, though, why did he say 'I killed Terence Crockford,' just like that?" He asked, more to clear things up than to contradict the headmaster. 

Dumbledore sighed. "There are some people, James, who never make excuses for themselves--even perfectly legitimate excuses. It is my guess that Severus is one of those people." 

_Like Sirius._ The thought popped into James' mind, unbidden. _They're really rather alike in that aspect._ He almost smiled, since both Sirius and Snape would kill him if he so much as hinted they were alike in any way. 

"So he blames himself for Crockford's death," stated James. He could see Sirius doing the same thing in such a situation, though he had no doubt Sirius would be quite capable of fighting off an Imperius Curse. 

"I'm afraid so." Dumbledore's gaze was still serious, and perhaps sorrowful as well. Neither of them spoke for a moment. 

"Why would Redwood--or any Auror--do that?" James finally burst out. "They're supposed to be fighting the Dark Arts, not practising it!" He was angry, though he didn't know exactly what he was angry at. 

"Yet, had Agent Redwood not acted as he had, they may not have uncovered the plot in time," Dumbledore said quietly. 

"I know, but--" James, feeling he was somehow being tested, looked the headmaster straight in the eye. "That still doesn't justify it. Because then we'd be on the same level as Voldemort and his supporters and there would be no point in fighting them at all." 

"Even for the sake of innocent lives, James? What if it was to save your life, or your parents' lives?" 

James hesitated. Then he answered, "Perhaps I would do it, for the sake of those I love." And he suddenly thought of Lily-- he knew he'd do even worse things for Lily. He had no reason or self-control where she was concerned, as today's events had proved. "But I would understand that I'm compromising a very basic and precious value that's a foundation of our lives, and I'd be prepared to face the consequences. It's simply not justifiable. No one should get away with that. Not in any decent society." 

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, and James was bewildered at the look of deep satisfaction on his face. It soon flickered back to its solemn look, though. "Well and truthfully answered, James. Yet I fear that prolonged darkness and fear has made the magical community a less than 'decent' place." 

"What do you mean?" James asked suspiciously. 

"This will be publicized tomorrow, but..." The headmaster sighed. "Mr.Crouch has decided to authorize the Aurors' use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects." 

"_What?_" He couldn't believe it. "Is Crouch mad?" 

"On the contrary, many think he is doing the right thing," said Dumbledore. "People are tired of losing, of being preyed upon, and they think this is the way to fight back." 

James shook his head, looking down. "I think it's the surest way to lose, ultimately." This was madness-- was everyone forgetting what they were fighting for, or against? 

He raised his head, startled, when Dumbledore said "I agree with you, James. I quite agree." He looked up to meet the aged Headmaster's eyes, and realized how hard he must have fought against this. And how keenly he must feel his own failure. 

After another pause, the Headmaster went on, "This also means that Agent Redwood will not be prosecuted. The more lenient provision is applied in criminal law, even if the provision was not in effect at the time of the act in question." 

"Why won't he be prosecuted? The new law permits the use of the curses against suspects, and Snape wasn't one--he was under the Imperius Curse!" 

"Yet at the time of the interrogation he was a suspect, in a sense. Agent Redwood knew he had been at the Ministry when he had no business being there." 

"How?" Now that he thought about it, why was it Redwood, of all people, who had come to collect Snape? It seemed a bit like something out of a bad dream, having your least favorite teacher come back to school to arrest you. 

"Perhaps this would never have happened if Agent Redwood had not been a professor here. You see, several days prior to learning of the planned Death Eater attack, Agent Redwood had lunch with Professor Sprout. She wanted to ask about some charms put on the school greenhouses, which she was having trouble with." 

James nodded. Professor Sprout, a plump, short witch, was a decent enough Herbology teacher--admittedly better than Redwood in many ways, because unlike her predecessor she really had her heart in it. 

"They fell to talking about the students, and she mentioned Severus having been in London because his mother was ill. This caught Agent Redwood's attention. This was because just the other day a coworker had complained of a student there a few days before, who seemed to be one of the many students on a learning tour of the Ministry that day. This student had knocked over a large pile of parchment, causing her much extra work. In retrospect, that must have been Severus trying to fight the Imperius Curse and attract attention. Agent Redwood thought the physical description his coworker gave seemed familiar, but thought nothing of it at the time. 

"However, after hearing Professor Sprout's words and comparing the dates, he realized Severus might well have been at the Ministry when he was supposed to be seeing his sick mother. He checked with St. Mungo's Hospital as well, and found that Mrs. Snape was certainly not a patient there, even under an alias or disguise. Then, when the Ministry found out about an imminent Death Eater assault and that the Snapes might possibly be involved, he was immediately suspicious and requested to question the boy as a last resort. The result, of course, was simply spectacular." 

James let out a long breath. It seemed improbable--yet plausible. The Ministry had been incredibly lucky: If Snape hadn't tried to attract attention, or if it weren't for Redwood's guesswork... 

"Looks like Redwood will walk away, then," he said grimly. "It's a terrible injustice, but it's legal." 

Dumbledore peered at him over his glasses. "Then let me ask you one other thing: If ever an investigation or hearing comes to pass, will you speak of what you saw and heard today, regardless of House rivalries or prejudice?" 

"Yes," James replied. "You have my word on that--though I don't see what good it will do." 

"Oh, it could do a world of good, James," said Dumbledore, some of the animation creeping back into his eyes. "I thank you for your decision to speak up should the need arise." 

"And finally, James," said the headmaster, "I will have to ask you to keep what you have seen and this conversation entirely to yourself as far as Severus is concerned." 

"Will do, sir." Snape had evidently gone incredible lengths to keep his secret, and he wasn't about to spill the beans on him-- particularly, he thought with a guilty squirm, when he had already caused Snape to spill them so spectacularly. 

"And Professor Dumbledore?" he said, "I think you should know the circumstances of Snape's injury." 

"Certainly, James. I was wondering if I would have to ask myself." 

"Actually, Snape and I were... hardly in a fight. I mean--" in a hurried voice he explained the circumstances, leaving Lily out of the picture but quite accurately otherwise. "Could it be something I did--that made him worse, or--" 

"No, James," the headmaster said with certainty. "You did not aggravate the symptoms in any particular way. Though you understand, you should not have lost your temper like that. I will take thirty points from Gryffindor and assign a detention." 

"Yes, sir," said James, relieved both at his words and the comparatively lenient punishment. 

"I understand Severus himself was partly at fault--poor boy, I understand how he felt." 

"You understand?" It was strange enough to hear Severus being called 'poor boy'; stranger still that Dumbledore, of all people, would understand him. 

"Sometimes, James, people feel a guilt so intense that the need for punishment becomes overwhelming. Often as not, this takes the form of needlessly provoking people around them...but of course, you would not understand. I hope you never will." And he gave a short sigh. 

He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts for a moment before he dismissed James, who left feeling as though he'd had a glimpse at something very personal. 

* * *

"It's true," Severus said numbly when Dumbledore laid out all his suspicions before him. He felt like a criminal cornered by the detective in one of those Muggle mystery novels of Lily's--_don't think about her_--that he had leafed through. Which was, in fact, the case. 

"Could you tell me what happened?" 

So he told the headmaster everything, his side of the story, and his hours in the interrogation chamber, all of which comprised five or six short sentences. He couldn't have told it any other way--otherwise, he would have broken down. 

Dumbledore gazed at him a long moment before saying, "Thank you, Severus." 

Severus rose. "Thank _you,_ Headmaster, for all you've done," he said bitterly. "I'll go and pack now." 

Dumbledore looked up sharply. "Severus, sit down." 

"What for?" He asked icily. "Any fool can see I'm done with here. I won't waste your time or mine anymore." 

"Severus, I have not called you here to discuss your expulsion. You are staying in this school. Now please, sit down." 

He sank down, propped an elbow on the arm of his chair, and covered his eyes with a hand. Otherwise, he might have seen the look of deepest sympathy and understanding cross the aged Headmaster's face. 

"What's the use?" He asked roughly, taking his hand away after a few moments and glaring at Dumbledore with cold, hollow eyes. "Other students' parents aren't likely to want me here. People are absolutely paranoid, you know that." 

"Yes, I know. But even if this does get out, and even if I am to get indignant letters and Howlers day and night, I am not expelling you." 

"I don't understand," Severus whispered. "Why not?" 

"Because what happened is not your fault. You are not a murderer, Severus." 

"But if only I had fought it off--" 

"More experienced wizards than you have been forced to do countless horrible deeds under the influence of the Imperius Curse. You can't blame yourself for what has happened." 

And meeting his eyes, Severus knew he meant it. At that moment, he would have done any number of stupid things--burst into tears, gotten down on his knees to thank Dumbledore, poured out his life story--but he kept a grip on himself and slumped back in his chair, suddenly and acutely exhausted. His head was a jumble of thoughts and feelings, and he didn't know whether he felt relieved, grateful, or unconvinced. 

"Is that all?" He murmured, All he wanted now was to be alone to sort things out. 

"No, there is one thing more. It's about Agent Redwood's--proposal--concerning heightened security against Slytherin students." 

"You mean there's something we can do?" He sat bolt upright. Yes, if anyone could think of a way to fend off the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it was Dumbledore. 

"As you no doubt know from this morning's news, Agent Redwood will in all likelihood get away with his actions in court," Dumbledore began. 

Snape nodded sourly. The close brush with death must really have gotten to Crouch, who had always been more ruthless than his predecessor. His authorizing the use of the Unforgivable curses was a surprising move, if not a real shock. 

"And neither do we need to take him to court. Of course, principle demands that we do, but we may have other uses for our knowledge." 

Unfamiliar though it was to hear Dumbledore talk about the 'use' of something over 'principle,' Severus put it aside and turned the wheels furiously in his head. "You're going to blackmail him," he said finally. Now this was a train of thought he could follow. "But will it be enough? I mean, what he did is all legal now, and I wouldn't exactly cut a sympathetic figure with the press..." 

"Perhaps not," said Dumbledore with perfect candor, "but you have someone to speak for you. He may be underage but he has charisma, some measure of recognition, and family connections as well." 

Now that sounded familiar. "A Potter. _James_ Potter," he said flatly, lips curling in disgust despite himself. "Do you honestly think this will work, Headmaster?" 

"It's our only chance, Severus. The Ministry is riding a wave of popular opinion, and I can hold them off from cracking down on Slytherin for only so long." Then Severus noticed the dark shadows under the headmaster's eyes, and his slightly haggard, worn look for the first time. This was really a last resort for him, he realized, and something he didn't feel one bit like doing. 

"Once underage students are targeted without solid suspicion--the fight will become a civil war," Dumbledore went on, the look of foreboding in his eyes deepening. "The Ministry will alienate countless wizards and witches, and Hogwarts will take a serious blow. I cannot allow that to happen, no matter what it takes." The look of foreboding turned to one of determination, and Severus was strangely afraid of the power and conviction in the old wizard's face. 

"So you threaten to tell everything to the press if the Ministry moves in on Slytherin students," said Severus slowly. "That they took an underage wizard to Ministry headquarters and tortured...wait." Something flashed in the back of his mind. Something... Dumbledore was looking at him curiously. "It wasn't the Ministry headquarters." 

"Severus?" 

"When I told--told them about Crockford's death, Redwood said something--_contact the Ministry immediately._ Why would he say that if it was the Ministry headquarters they were in?" 

Dumbledore nodded, realization dawning in his eyes. "Yes, that makes sense. I had suspected for some time that they might have a secret location for their more--questionable interrogations." 

"And Professor McGonagall gave them permission to take me to Ministry headquarters. That doesn't completely rule out kidnap, does it? This is perfect!" he said, feeling better than he had for many days. 

"Quite right, Severus," said the headmaster. A tired kind of triumph settled over him as Severus went on. 

"The house of horror and atrocity," he said, almost with relish, "and once nice, upstanding wizards like Potter and his clan start denouncing it, and I tell my 'tale of a survivor'-- it'll make people nervous, finding out that the Ministry kept a secret place for questioning witches and wizards..." then he stopped, and let out a short, hollow laugh. "Too bad we'll never get to see the story, or the hype." 

"No. I think the threat will be sufficient to keep the Ministry well away from Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. 

Snape looked at the Headmaster with a new respect, a respect of the Slytherin sort. Just when he thought he knew everything about Albus Dumbledore he showed a completely new face, of someone who was capable of plots and back deals to stop a breach in the wizarding world and to protect Hogwarts. 

"But Severus--I want you to be sure of this. You might want to charge Redwood with charges of kidnap and blackmail, if nothing else. If we strike this deal with the Ministry, you can't do so." 

"It's all right, Headmaster," said Severus. "I don't care about getting Redwood in trouble. Slytherin House is more important." 

It was true, he reflected as he made his way down the corridors. He didn't particularly want Redwood in deep water... 

No, he wanted to see the arrogant bastard beg for mercy and grovel at his feet. Just as he had pleaded for mercy in moments of excruciating pain, and gotten none. 

The death rate for Aurors was forty-four percent and still climbing. 

* * *

"Come on, Lily, let's go outside," said Indira, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 

"Outside?" Lily asked as if this were a new word for her. 

They were alone in the common room; they were staying up late because Indira said she needed help with Astronomy. And now she wanted to sneak out...what was up with her? Normally quiet and studious, her best friend seemed strangely restless tonight. 

"I promised to meet Ashok for a nighttime stroll, and you're coming with me," Indira said. "Up you get." 

Lily sighed and stood up. Ever since things had been patched up with Ashok, Indira was spending increasing amounts of time with him, and talked about nothing else. _Does she even remember I'll be seventeen in thirty minutes,_ she wondered. 

They stepped outside the portrait hole, and Lily turned to ask Indira where they were going. 

But Indira was gone. 

Lily looked around, bewildered. There wasn't enough time for the portrait hole to have opened and closed again, so she couldn't have gone back in. Nor could she have made it to a corner in such a short time. Was this some kind of joke? 

Slightly disgruntled, she turned to the portrait to climb back in when she caught a glimpse of something white out of the corner of her eye. She looked down, and saw a trail of something white down the hall. She bent down and picked one up. A delicate fragrance touched her nose, and a velvety feeling caressed her fingers: A white rose petal. 

She hesitated a second, but her curiosity got the better of her and she started following the trail of rose petals. There was so little to cheer her up these days; she couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd smiled. The tension and forced friendliness between her and James hadn't exactly improved things, either. And--shaking her head, she concentrated on following the petal-trail. 

The whole thing had the quality of a rather strange dream. Maybe she _was_ dreaming. She hesitated again when she reached the castle front door, rubbing the petal she held between thumb and forefinger. Then she pushed the doors open, and stepped out into the chill night air. 

She walked on, under the stars and a half moon, still following the scented trail shining faintly in starlight. And when it led into the Forbidden Forest she didn't hesitate, but walked right under the canopy of leaves. 

The trees fell away abruptly as she reached a round clearing--and what she saw nearly took her breath away. She paused in her steps, the rose petal fluttering to the ground unnoticed. 

In the center of the clearing stood a magnificent stag, at least fourteen or fifteen hands at the shoulders. Its form was strong yet agile, resplendent horns clawing at the starlit sky atop a proudly held head. 

She was momentarily afraid as it lowered it head to look at her, and made to step back, but its gaze was friendly and warm. Seeing that it frightened her it did not come forward, staying very still where it was. 

Very slowly she took a step forward, and then another. Her eyes were fixed on the stag's as she approached, and they were strangely familiar eyes-- warm, intelligent brown eyes, steady and fearless, yet at the moment strangely shy. The shyness she had seen in-- 

"James?" She whispered, and ludicrous as that sounded, she knew she was right. She ran the last yard or two and hugged the stag's muscular neck, burying her face in the short, rough fur. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world when strong arms closed around her and she looked up to see James' smiling face. 

"Did you like Prongs?" He said, his voice a murmur in her ear. 

"He's prettier than you are," she smiled, the first time in many days, though her eyes were a little too bright. 

"Happy birthday, Lily," he whispered. 

And in that one moment everything was forgiven, all the fights and misunderstandings forgotten. And their lips met passionately, confidently, with all the surety of two imperfect and struggling people who knew tomorrow might be too late, and that this was _right_, was meant to be. 

They broke away slowly, the kiss burned out by its own intensity. They gazed at each other for a long moment, as if each saw the other for the first time under a new moon and new stars. 

Then suddenly, they heard a joyful bark coming from the bushes around them and turned in that direction, startled. 

"Oh, _no_," said James, clapping a hand to his forhead, as a huge black dog with pale eyes bounded toward them, tail wagging madly. It all but bowled Lily over before she put her arms round its neck, stopping its forward rush, just as a boy with brown hair ran out from behind the dog, trying to restrain it. "Whoa, Padfoot!" Cried Remus Lupin playfully. "Behave!" A chubby gray rat scampered off his shoulder to the ground and looked up at her with small, bright eyes. 

"Sirius?" Lily said wonderingly, holding the dog at arm's length. Then, "_Peter?_" Disengaging one arm from the dog's neck she scooped the rat up in her free hand, where it squeaked excitedly. 

"Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail--what are you doing here?" James demanded. 

The black dog stepped away from Lily, and in moments a tall, laughing boy with shaggy black hair took its place. "We," he said, "are your chaperones for tonight's plans. Didn't think we'd let the two of you go alone, did you? I will brook no improper behavior from Hogwarts students!" He added in an uncanny impersonization of Professor McGonagall. 

The rat jumped off Lily's hand and turned into a short, fat boy, who was smiling. "I _told_ them we wouldn't be wanted, but would they listen?" He shrugged. "I decided the one voice of reason had to come along." 

"Hey, that's my line, Peter!" Laughed Remus. "Anyway, would we miss a chance to explore the Forbidden Forest after planning this forever?" 

"I don't believe it!" Lily laughed. "Though I knew it would have to be--oh, but seeing _is_ believing!" 

Four pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. "You-you knew?" Stammered Peter. "How?" 

"Hey, I do have a head on my shoulders. I know my lunar charts, and when Remus disappeared with such regularity..." she shrugged. "But then, since our last school year, you three started disappearing, too. I could tell by the unearthly quiet," she grinned. "And what other way would there be to keep a werewolf company, besides becoming animals? But I have to hand it to you-- I never really believed you'd pull if off like that." 

A short, rather stunned silence followed. _Boys_, Lily thought with good-natured exaperation. _Always thinking they're so clever._ They were all like that. Well, except for one--she pushed the thought away. 

"Well, then," said Remus, "It's time to get on with our plans!" 

"Exploring the Forest, did you say?" Lily asked. 

"The cleverest witch in Hogwarts deserves no less!" Said Sirius with a comical bow. "In celebration of her birthday, Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs have arranged a grand tour of the Forbidden Forest!" 

"Astride her fine steed--" said Remus, trying to restrain his laughter, pointing at a still-bewildered James. 

"C'mon, James!" Peter whispered none too discreetly. "Change!" 

James glared at them all. "I'll get you back for this," he said. 

"You'd deprive the lady of her steed?" Sirius said in mock horror. "Prongs, where is your chivalry?" 

With a final disgruntled look, James turned back into Prongs. 

"Coming, Lily?" Remus asked. 

"Well, for one thing it's dangerous, and we'll probably get caught and get in loads of trouble, and we won't get any sleep--" she counted off on her fingers, then threw up her hands. "But who cares? You're not seventeen every day! Let's go!" 

"I knew it!" Sirius once more turned into Padfoot; and Peter, after saying "Give me a leg up, won't you, Moony?" assumed his rat form. Remus picked him up to place him on his shoulder, then waved his wand--and a garland of flowers draped itself over Prongs' horns. 

If stags could scowl, the look on James' face would have been it; laughing, since she could tell he had planned quite a different tour from this one, Lily climbed onto the stag's back with Remus' help. 

They all moved deeper into the forest, and under the night sky Lily's laughter once again rang clear and true. 

  



	11. Willow

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 11: Willow**

  


They say that what you mock  
Will surely overtake you  
And you become a monster  
So the monster will not break you... 

-U2, _Peace on Earth_

  


They were up to something--he could _taste_ it as a serpent tastes air with its tongue. The years he spent watching those idiots had given him a more intimate knowledge of them than he cared to admit, and when they were anticipating something, he knew. 

If only he knew what it was. 

Resolving to find out what new trouble the sixth-year Gryffindors were brewing, Severus managed a few more bites of his dinner before he left the table. He never did gain his appetite back since his fifth year--he shied instinctively away from the thought--and eating was something he did simply to stay alive. In the back of his mind he wondered when he had last felt joy. 

Just as he reached the exit, uproarious laughter from the Gryffindor table made him look back. Potter and Black were evidently sharing some highly amusing joke with their circle of friends, Pettigrew hanging onto every word while Lupin chuckled quietly. Evans was shaking her head, trying to hold in her laughter. 

Severus turned abruptly and left. 

Why? He wondered as he strode through the halls to the dungeon, barely taking notice of the students who moved hurriedly aside to make way for him. What was this fixation with Potter's group of boneheads, when he had plenty of other things to occupy his time with? 

_Envy, for such simple, unconditional camaraderie--_

He brushed away the thought. He did not crave companionship. He was beyond craving such things. You had to be human first. 

Not liking the way his thoughts were turning, he simply turned his mind to Potter and his cronies. Whatever they were planning, he would make sure it would get them enough points deducted to knock Gryffindor off its lead in the inter-House competition. Perhaps even get one of the boneheads expelled. Not that he thought it likely, but life was good as long as he had something to look forward to. 

  


It was dark when he emerged from the dungeon laboratory, the encroaching gloom of the stone hallways lit here and there with sputtering torches. Coming up for dinner had not been in his plans at first, but he usually kept mealtimes if only to keep himself standing. The potion he'd prepared would need to simmer a while anyway. 

His gaze went to the Gryffindor table, out of habit, as he entered the cafeteria. Potter and his friends had their heads together conspiratorially, whispering among themselves. Well, that accounted for the unusual quiet in the cafeteria--Severus estimated that Potter and Black were responsible for roughly eighty per cent of the noise level in the cafeteria during meals. 

Severus looked away before he was caught staring and headed for the Slytherin table. The Gryffindors were making plans. Seeing how far beyond their mental capacity long-term planning was, whatever they were planning to do they would carry out tonight. Dinner passed in a blur of quiet excitement. He was almost good-natured with his fellow Slytherins, but stood quickly before the Gryffindors could finish. He murmured some excuse about an experiment and left the cafeteria in a hurry. 

Instead of heading for the dungeons, however, he stood against the wall next to the exit. He edged far enough away from the doorway so he would blend into the shadows and not be easily seen, yet was within hearing distance from the door. He wasn't worried about the cauldron he'd left behind--the fire had been charmed to extinguish itself after a certain duration. 

He waited. 

A few students emerged in twos and threes, and just as he expected none took notice of him. About ten minutes after he took up watch the self-named Marauders burst out, far earlier than usual. 

"I'll go on ahead, like always," Pettigrew was saying exuberantly, all but bursting with pleasure at having something important to do. 

"You do that," said Potter. "How would we manage without you, Wormtail?" 

"How're you feeling, Remus?" Black turned to Lupin, who looked even paler and thinner than usual. "You sure you don't want-" 

Lupin stiffened suddenly, cutting Black off midsentence. Black stood still, looking confused for a moment, then followed Lupin's gaze to where Severus stood against the wall. 

"Whoa, fellows," said Black, "rat alert, four o'clock." 

Severus stepped away from the wall into the torchlight, cursing inwardly. How had Lupin known? 

"Going somewhere with your little friends, Potter?" He asked in a silky voice. "After curfew?" 

"If it were _any_ of your business, Snape, you can be sure we'd tell you." 

"I'll take that as a yes." Severus took pleasure in the tension this caused all four of them. "And as far as 'business' goes, as a prefect of Hogwarts I consider it very much my business where rules are concerned." 

"Mind your own snakepit, Snape." Black growled and stepped forward, very much the loyal hound. "We have our own prefects." 

"One of whom, at least, contemplates rule-breaking. Don't you think, Potter-" 

"For God's sake!" Severus wasn't the only one startled at the sudden outburst. Lupin's own friends stared wide-eyed at the usually soft-spoken young wizard. "Would you just sod off, Snape!" Lupin's eyes blazed strangely against the pale, gaunt face, and Severus had to force himself not to step back. 

"That time of the month again, Lupin?" Asked Severus, out of simple reflex. Insults were his preferred way of concealing fear or vulnerability, after all. 

The reaction to this rather crude retort, however, was somewhat more interesting than he would have expected. Lupin just barely stifled a gasp, while Potter's jaw dropped. 

"_What_ did you say?" Black had gone almost as pale as Lupin. 

"I-I have to go." Lupin's low, urgent voice cut the thick tension. He turned and almost ran down the hall, Potter and Pettigrew following close behind. Severus watched them go in confusion. 

"Snape!" Sirius Black's grabbing him by the front of his robes brought him back to the present. "What the hell were you implying?" 

Severus brushed Black off. "You know very well what I was implying," He said coldly. Was it _that_ serious an insult to insinuate Lupin was a girl? 

By now the hallway outside the cafeteria was starting to fill with people, and this obviously wasn't a conversation Black wished to have in the open. 

"You really want to know what we're up to?" Black said suddenly, in a low, almost inaudible whisper that only Severus could hear. 

Severus said nothing. Something about the look in Black's eyes, wild and almost desperate, made him more nervous than he would admit. 

"It's the Whomping Willow," Black went on in that same low whisper. "Press the knot on its trunk with a stick, and the branches will freeze. There's a hole under the tree." 

"Why should I believe you?" Severus hissed. 

"Then don't," the taller boy said rigidly. He then walked away, leaving Severus more confused than ever. What the hell was that all about? He headed for the Slytherin common room, alone with his thoughts. 

As far as he knew, there were two creatures whose biology depended on a monthly cycle: Women, and- 

He banished the idea from his mind so quickly that he was not aware of having thought it. Dumbledore would not allow such a creature into Hogwarts. He was responsible for the protection of wizarding students, a job that Severus knew he took seriously. He trusted Dumbledore. 

But he had to know. He knew himself well enough to realize he would not be at peace until he had at least tested this new piece of information. He tried hard not to think about a certain adage involving curiosity and a cat. 

  


He watched Madam Pomfrey, a shadowy silhouette in the dusk, head back to the castle. Once she disappeared inside he came out of his hiding place behind a tree and crept silently across the dark grounds to the Willow himself. He hadn't managed to get close enough to clearly see what she did to gain access to the Willow, and it was a good thing Black had tipped him off--assuming, of course, that the tip was genuine. No doubt he was walking into a setup or an elaborate prank, with eyes wide open no less. Not for the first time he cursed his own inquisitiveness, and his completely illogical obsession with the Marauders. 

Well, no matter. He could talk or duel his way out of anything that arose, he thought with confidence, which he would recognize only later as youthful arrogance. 

He paused several yards away from the Whomping Willow, just out of reach of its thrashing branches. He spied the knot Black must have been going on about, and looked around on the ground for something he could use to press it. There was fallen bough that would do nicely, though he wouldn't be able to reach for it without stepping into range of the Willow. He took out his wand. 

"_Accio_ branch." Promptly it flew into his hand, and with it he reached out tentatively for the knot. 

Damn it, it was too short by inches. He would have to walk into range. He judged the timing of the swishing branches of the tree and stepped into a gap between the defenses. He thrust out the branch. 

One of the willow's many boughs whipped through the air for his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut just as he felt the tip of the branch press against the tree. 

The impact never came. 

Severus slowly opened his eyes. The Willow stood perfectly frozen, a normal tree aside from the fantastic contortions its limbs were in. He almost dropped the branch he held. Quickly realizing the stupidity of such a reaction, he instead inched his hand along its length until he stood before the hole at the root of the tree, just as Black had described. In the bright light of the rising moon Severus could see that it sloped downward, but nothing else. 

He'd already come too far to turn back. He checked to make sure his wand was secure in his hand, and let go of the branch. The tree started moving again, but he ducked into the hole before it could hit him. 

He slid down an earthen slope sitting down, wand out before him. 

"_Lumos,_" he whispered when he came to a stop. 

He was in a low tunnel that smelled distinctly of animals. It wound forward before him without branching. He stood and, stooped a little, followed the tunnel. 

He was vaguely uneasy as he ventured further in. He tried to pass it off as a result of the claustrophobic surroundings and musty air, but his breath still came in short, shallow gasps and sweat beaded on his forehead. There was an unmistakable sense of danger for no reason he could name, but he ignored it. He thought he heard snarls and ripping fabric ahead. 

In this state of mind, it was no wonder he jumped when he heard a creaking sound above him. It was the Willow grinding to a stop again, he realized. He whirled around, holding his wand out, just in time to see James Potter skid down the slope. 

"Potter!" So this was a setup, after all. His mind was already going through the ways he would get back at Black. 

"Snape. Thank God I found you." Potter's voice was a good deal lower than Severus' own, as if he was afraid of being heard. "We have to get out at once." He came slowly closer. 

"Why should I listen to you?" Severus spat. It didn't help his temper that Potter was echoing what his own instincts had been telling him ever since he entered the tunnel. 

"Listen Snape, you're--we're in grave danger." 

Before Severus could wonder at the change of words, he heard a growl from further on in the tunnel. Potter immediately paled. 

"Come on!" He grabbed Severus by the shoulders and pulled him roughly toward the entrance, but Severus couldn't move. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the direction of the sounds. His heart pounding in his ears, he simply watched as a wolf padded down the passage toward him, only the wolf's snout was all wrong... 

"_Snape!_" 

The panic in Potter's voice finally snapped him out of it, and Severus rushed for the slope that led to the exit. Fear ran dark through him, the primal fear that every wizard knows from the cradle. Sudden pain started up all over, an almost overwhelming physical pain, which he knew was decidedly not normal. 

A bloodcurdling howl split the air, and Severus felt the strength ebb out of him at the sound. Yet he never felt the creature's teeth. Despite the urgent situation he looked over his shoulder at the beast--holding itself back? The werewolf was clearly trying to pounce, yet it could not, as if another urge held it just barely in check. The wolf stalked back and forth, whimpering as if injured, and at one point liquid gold-brown eyes looked straight at Severus. 

Familiar eyes. 

Potter stood between the werewolf and Severus, though he had no idea what the Gryffindor intended to do without even his wand in hand. "Go, Snape! Go now!" 

Severus ignored the pain, and with a final surge of strength scrambled up the slope and out of the hole, into the clear night air and the swishing sounds of the Whomping Willow's branches. A noise came from behind him, and mechanically he turned around to help Potter out by the arms, keeping low as possible. 

They made a run for it. The werewolf's snarls echoed behind them, but it seemed discouraged enough by the Whomping Willow. 

Severus sat down heavily as soon as they were clear of the Willow. Leaden agony rested heavy over his body, in his ribs, arms, knees, behind his eyes. Everywhere. This was ridiculous. There was no reason for him to hurt physically-- 

Except one. Of course. Good old Pavlov and his bloody dog, he thought sourly. 

"Are you hurt, Snape?" Potter crouched by his side. 

"Your werewolf friend didn't manage to mangle me if that's what you're asking." He looked straight ahead, concentrating on breathing through the aching in his chest. The pain was slowly subsiding, as it should. It had no physical basis, only a psychological one. 

"Redwood," he ground out through gritted teeth. 

"What?" Potter looked thoroughly confused. 

"James!" 

Severus raised fogged eyes to see Black and Pettigrew running toward them across the grounds, McGonagall not far behind. 

"You're okay, James!" Black skidded to a stop just short of crashing into Potter, and threw his arms around his friend in a fierce, brief hug. "Thank God you're all right. When Peter told me you went after that git.." 

"I'm fine, Padfoot." Potter patted Black's shoulder reassuringly. 

_Simple, unconditional camaraderie..._

Severus stood, determined not to show vulnerability in front of Potter and his lackeys. 

"Well, well." Black stepped away from Potter to face Severus, his eyes hardening. "A Slytherin prefect, breaking the rules. Can you say 'hypocrisy,' Snape?" 

"As a matter of fact I can." Sneered Severus. "The question is, Black, can you say 'reckless endangerment?' How about 'attempted murder?'" 

"That's quite enough, all of you," came Professor McGonagall's voice, breathless but stern. "Potter, Black, Pettigrew, Snape--the Headmaster's office. Now." 

They all knew better than to argue when McGonagall used that particular tone of voice. They all trudged back toward the castle, dreading what awaited. 

Severus looked up at the full moon, serene against a velvet night sky above the restless Whomping Willow. He gave a small, silent sigh and followed the Gryffindors back. 

  


"Why were you so avid about discovering Remus' whereabouts, Severus?" Headmaster Dumbledore asked after hearing the story. He sounded pleasant, but the hard gleam on his spectacles told Severus he was in trouble. As if he didn't know that already. 

"I believed Lupin and his friends might be involved in breaking the regulations of his school, sir." 

"Is that why you broke the rules yourself, Severus?" 

Black gave a snort of laughter, which he quickly smothered. Severus felt like killing him, or Dumbledore, or both. Leave it to the Headmaster to ask unanswerable questions. 

Well, no use drowning in rationalizations. "Yes, sir." 

Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus..." 

"Look, I won't make excuses about this." Better to make small concessions to go for the big catch. "But that does not change the fact that Black tried to kill me." 

"I didn't try to kill you, you git!" 

He turned to Black. "No? And next you'll tell me you didn't know about the werewolf, either." 

"Of course I knew." Black foundered a bit. "But I just told you how to get there! I didn't drag you kicking and screaming down to the Whomping Willow, did I?" 

"How very convenient, Black." Severus was reminded once again why Sirius Black disgusted him so much. "That's what you counted on, wasn't it. After the animal tore me to pieces-" 

"Severus, please." The Headmaster interceded firmly. "He is a fellow Hogwarts student, and he has a name." 

"A fellow student." Severus snorted. _Because you let him in here, at the risk of every other student in Hogwarts._ He hadn't thought it possible, had dismissed the very thought from his mind, but now... 

"Yes." Dumbledore's eyes bore into Severus's, but he turned his eyes away. The silence stretched on while the Gryffindors looked on tensely. 

"Why?" Severus was unable to contain himself any longer. "Was one werewolf more important than the rest of the student body? You thought him worth the risk?" 

Black growled, "Why you little-" but one glance from Dumbledore, and he subsided instantly. 

"Severus, I seem to recall a very similar argument made by someone else. Only it was against a group of students, rather than just one." 

Severus felt like Dumbledore had slapped him across the face. In this very room less than a year ago, an Auror declaring all Slytherins to be a danger to Hogwarts and the wizarding society. The memory of pain flared up again, down his spine and in his eyes, holding him in its vice for impossible seconds. 

He managed to gain enough control to start breathing again. _Redwood._ Must he think the name twice in one evening? 

"That's different," said a hoarse, low voice. It took a moment to realize it was his own. 

"How so, Severus?" He could feel the piercing blue gaze, even with his eyes riveted on the floor. 

He clenched his hands into fists. _Because he is not I, not one of Us. He is the Other, one of Them._ It would make perfect sense until he said it aloud. He looked up at Dumbledore. "Could we have this conversation another day, Headmaster?" _Preferably never._ Potter and his friends simply gaped, not having a clue what was going on. 

"Very well, Severus. Another day." The conversation would, indeed, resume another day. 

Dumbledore went on in a more businesslike tone. "Be warned that, should you reveal Remus' lycanthropy to anyone you will be expelled from Hogwarts. Fifty points are taken from Slytherin for deliberate violation of school rules, and twenty-five more for trespassing beyond the Whomping Willow." 

Severus nodded dully. He didn't really care anymore about house points or getting anyone expelled. He just wanted to escape Dumbledore's clear gaze as soon as humanly possible. His housemates wouldn't gripe overmuch anyway, not if they wanted to get through the next day in one piece. 

Dumbledore turned to the Gryffindors. "Twenty-five points from Gryffindor for each of you for violation of school rules. An additional fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor on account of your willful endangerment of Mr. Snape, Sirius." Black nodded, though he looked sullen. "James, you have earned forty points for Gryffindor on account of bravery in rescuing a fellow student." The Gryffindors brightened somewhat. 

Seventy-five points from Slytherin and eighty-five from Gryffindor. Now that was what he called a massacre. 

"Do I have permission to leave, Headmaster?" Severus asked. 

"You may go," said Dumbledore, his eyes grave. Severus averted his gaze again and walked out of the room without a second glance. 

He waited for the Gryffindors outside the door, and when they came out into the hall came to stand before Potter. Completely ignoring Black, who instinctively tensed, and Pettigrew, who cowered, he spoke formally to Potter. 

"I owe you a life-debt, Potter. I swear to repay it at the earliest possible opportunity, to you or, failing that, to your kin." 

Potter gave an acknowledging nod, but Black called out, "What's that? 'Thank you,' Dark wizard-style?" 

"Who's the Dark?" Said Severus before Potter could say anything. "You mean the one without even the dubious decency to murder by his own hand, but by his friend's hand instead? Or shall I say," he said with an arch smile, "Claws?" 

Black looked at him with pure loathing, but Severus was used to that. He simply returned the look and deliberately turned his back on Black. As he walked away he wondered how long it would be before his terror ceased to manifest itself as pain. And how long it would be before he was free, whatever "free" really meant. 

  


James and Sirius watched him sweep away like a dark storm-cloud. 

"You know, Sirius," said James once Snape was out of sight, "he's right to some degree." 

"W-what?" Sirius laughed nervously, not really believing what he just heard. "What do you mean?" 

"I guess I just mean this." James faced his friend squarely. "Mr. Prongs desires very much the pleasure of knowing just what the _hell_ Mr. Padfoot was thinking." 

Sirius bowed his head and spread his hands. "I wasn't, James." 

"Obviously not. Not the fact that Moony could have killed Snape. Not the fact you could have made Remus a murderer." His voice was hard. "My God, Sirius, if Peter hadn't told me about what you did..." 

"I- I was just so sure Snape knew." Sirius shook his head in a helpless gesture. "And you know about him and the Dark Arts. Everyone's talking about it. I just wanted to give him a scare." 

"That's the worst excuse for anything I've heard in a long time. You mean you were willing to take the risk of Snape hurting Moony with the Dark Arts, not knowing or not caring it was Remus?" 

Sirius let out a dejected sigh that seemed to deflate his whole body. "I know, Prongs. There's no excuse. I put Snape, Remus, and you all in danger. I screwed up." 

Neither said anything for a long moment. "Well, let's go," James said wearily. Sirius headed slowly down the hall, his steps heavy. 

"Oh, and Padfoot?" 

Sirius stopped and turned. He never saw it coming: Before he could blink James' straight punch had sent him toppling to the floor, flat on his back. He managed to sit up a moment later, ruefully rubbing his jaw where James had caught him. 

"I was waiting for that, you know." His eyes twinkled with laughter. 

Without a word James offered his hand, and pulled Sirius to his feet. 

"You do pack a hell of a punch, Prongs, for an herbivore." He paused. "So, am I forgiven?" 

"Only by me." James grinned. "You'll have to go over the whole forgiving thing all over again with Moony." 

Sirius groaned. "Tell me it ain't so. Remus is just scary, man." 

"Scarier than I am, man?" James raised an eyebrow. 

"Scarier than herbivores, man." Sirius blocked a mock punch from James. 

They walked down the hallway side by side, laughing together. 

_Envy, for such simple, unconditional camaraderie..._

  


Notes: Okayyy, that probably stuck out like a sore thumb because the writing is so different from the rest of the (as yet unrevised) story. Not to mention that, from what I've heard about Book 5, the characterizations of the Marauders and Snape are going to need a humongous makeover(I'm going to enjoy that, heh heh heh..) to say nothing of the new facts that came to light. Book 5 should be delivered any day now. 

I was shocked, to say the least, to see that there are such recent reviews to this fic, which I thought was forgotten. I was galvanized enough by the reviews to write this chapter, which I'd felt was necessary for some time. For the record, Dumbledore pointing out Snape's(I finally managed to call him Severus throughout! Yay!) logic against Lupin was similar to Redwood's against the Slytherins--that part came as a complete shock to me. Devious man, Dumbledore... 

  



	12. Slytherin to Slytherin

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 12: Slytherin to Slytherin**

  


He sat, silent and watchful, looking at the door. He was only dimly aware of the rowdiness of the tables around him and the stale, smoky atmosphere. Lucius Malfoy would be late again, of course...He had met the man only once before but he knew the type-- well-blooded and well-moneyed, thinking themselves a notch or two above anyone else. Lesser mortals' waiting for him would be the least respect they should pay his lineage and influence, in his eyes. 

When the gang had insisted, three months ago, just before the Christmas holidays, that he come with them to see the younger Malfoy at Hog's Head, he'd simply shaken his head and told them he had other things to do. Irritated by Dumbledore and Baddock's concern about his safety he'd vowed to stay out of anything resembling trouble, simply to be left alone. And while seeing a rich, uprising young wizard on a Hogsmeade visiting weekend might not qualify as trouble, seeing someone he would bet his life was a Death Eater certainly did. Worse since that Death Eater was likely a highbrow recruiter ready to harvest sixth year Slytherins who'd be graduating in a year and a half. 

"But you've got to come," Wilkes had insisted. Snape didn't know what Baddock had said to them, but the Slytherins had actually been decent to him ever since his return from the Aurors' interrogations, and he had been quietly reinstated as part of the gang. Though he went along with it, the fact irked him to no end--he did not need Baddock's pity, on top of everything else. "Lucius actually mentioned you--all of us--by name!" 

"Look," Snape lowered his voice, "don't talk about him like he's some kind of friendly young uncle. Have you lost all sense of caution, meeting an obvious Death Eater in the middle of Hogsmeade?" 

"But what have we to be _afraid_ of, Severus?" Mei-lin asked as innocently as Mei-lin could, her slight, mocking accent on the word 'afraid' making him flinch. "Mr. Malfoy comes from a prestigious wizarding family, and his record is quite spotless. What can anyone say about our having a few drinks with a Slytherin alumnus?" 

"They can say it's suspicious, that's what they can say!" Snape hissed, her imperious tone ruffling his calm as it never failed to do. 

Just then Lestrange dropped the quill he had idly been toying with, and leaned in to retrieve it. As he did so he murmured into Snape's ear: "He's in touch with your family, Severus." 

Alan sat down calmly, giving no indication he had said anything out of the ordinary; and Snape gave no indication he had heard anything unusual. 

"You can't miss this chance if you want a foothold...after graduation," Mei-lin went on without giving a second glance at Lestrange. 

Oh, yes. After graduation. They talked about it in glowing, adolescent terms, how they'd join the glorious circle, cleansing the wizarding world of those unworthy of magic, what positions they would rise to, the endless power and wealth they would gain. More than once he felt like getting up and screaming at them for being such idiots, talking about what they knew nothing of-- but if he alienated them again there would be no coming back. And there was no other place in Hogwarts where he belonged. 

So he sat for many evenings, eyes glittering and face expressionless, listening to the gang talking exultantly about throwing away the very things he had been forced to lose: The sense of security and control over life, a good night's sleep without the help of a stolen sleeping draught, human warmth, companionship without conditions or calculations, days free of fear and dread. 

And all for what? 

"Besides, there'll be books and potion ingredients Mr.Malfoy might procure for us," Avery was saying. "You're always talking about how inadequate the school's are.." 

"All right, then, I'll come. Now will you stop pestering me?" He snapped. 

If the others knew about what Alan had 'secretly' said, they had enough delicacy not to show it. And Severus himself had enough self-respect left to think it was because of Avery's mention of books and ingredients, and because he was tired of being badgered, that he had agreed to go. 

Lucius Malfoy had actually been quite jovial in a condescending, sneeringly aristocratic way, humorous at the expense of others. He praised their academic achievements, especially Severus and Mei-lin's twelve O.W.L.s. He had seemed quite interested in their respective skills, Snape's in Potions and curses, Jin's in Charms and Divination, Lestrange's in Transfiguration, and so on. This confirmed in Snape's mind that he was a recruiter. What else was he doing, spending his precious afternoon with a bunch of seventeen-year-olds? 

The others had crawled all over him like overenthusiastic puppies, peppering him with questions-- and Malfoy, while cagey over most of them, gave out a few choice answers with the air of one letting them in on great secrets, calculated to inspire awe and wonder in his young listeners. Even Snape had been drawn in momentarily as he talked in a low voice about 'branches' all across the British Isles, new recruits going on from France to Romania. He was faced with the prospect of a power that was spreading so widely and inexorably, of a conquest that seemed so inevitable that it was only a matter of time. The Lord, Lucius Malfoy's words promised, rewarded his followers richly, the most faithful beyond the wildest imagination... 

And Severus saw in the faces of the others just how they longed to be that most faithful of servants, longing for such power and prestige as the man before them wielded. He saw, also, in Malfoy's cold gray eyes, a look of triumph--the triumph of a con man or a cheating gambler who had neatly taken in his clients. 

Then Severus was afraid, afraid of something inside him that was all too ready to embrace this seemingly shining path to glory; afraid of the stupid idealism and faith that would surely be betrayed, as all faith was bound to be; afraid he might have no choice, and would have to go along willingly unless he wished to be dragged along. 

Later, when it had become simply imperative that Mr. Malfoy leave (with many regrets) for other most pressing engagements, he had drawn Snape aside to hand him two envelopes. 

"Your mother and brother send their greetings," he had said. "Happy holidays, Severus." 

Their eyes met briefly, cold, shallow gray eyes and hollow, fathomless black ones; then Severus had turned away with a curt nod. 

Later that evening Severus had waited for everyone else to go to bed before opening the letters in the common room. He had first read Mother's, then Septimius', then said "_Incendio_" and watched while the angry flames flared up to smolder for a long time afterward. 

He had cleared the smoldering ashes away with a sweep of his wand and gone up to bed, thinking Lucius Malfoy had probably known what the letters were about. He wished never to see the man again, yet somehow knew he would. 

And now, three months later, Snape could be almost glad of that previous meeting. It had certainly made setting up this one much easier. Other--developments had made it necessary that he meet Lucius Malfoy again. Only he would not be begging for favors, he vowed. This would be a deal between equals, whether such a word existed in Malfoy's vocabulary or not. 

Malfoy finally made his appearance, looking distastefully around him, no doubt worried about the effect of his surroundings on his tailored cloak and impeccably fine boots. Snape inwardly snorted, and raised his hooded head to indicate his position. Malfoy's pale sneering eyes met his, and the young man made his way over. Snape hoped he was getting more grime on his robes than he liked. 

"Mr.Snape," Lucius Malfoy slid into the seat across from him. "I did not recognize you at first." He glanced over the long cloak Snape wore, a black hood almost concealing his face. 

"Forgive me, Mr.Malfoy," Snape said smoothly. "I thought it better if I was not recognized." It was unusually cold for March, so his choice of clothes had not drawn undue attention, though it was rather heavy. "It would be unwise to risk Dumbledore's hearing of this," he went on. 

"I see," Malfoy said casually, but his outward calm didn't sit entirely comfortably on him. Snape knew the mention of Dumbledore's name had unsettled him, however slightly. "Now, I really don't have much time," he said after they had ordered drinks, the words 'for a kid' not spoken but evident in his finely sneering, arrogant tone. "May I know what pressing matters made you ask to see me?" 

"It's about the Hostile Property Containment Act," he said, his lips curling in disgust, as did Malfoy's. "With my mother and brother under suspicion and in hiding, the Ministry has moved in on my family's property and other assets. I got a notice--" how he hated letters, they brought nothing but bad news-- "only three days ago, informing me I no longer had control over the family vault in Gringott's and that Snape Manor would be confisticated." 

This was so acutely embarrassing that he had not told anyone, none of the professors, none of his friends. He was certain the Gryffindors would have a field day if they found out his worldly possessions had been reduced to the things in his dorm room, and that he no longer had enough money to buy a new set of robes, much less finish his last year of school. 

"I am very sorry to hear that," said Malfoy, not sounding sorry at all. "I offer you my condolences." 

"Which are received with many thanks," Snape said with perfect insincerity, "but perhaps you can give more than your condolences, Mr. Malfoy." 

"Which means?" Said Malfoy, suddenly businesslike and distant. 

"That you could use your--considerable powers of persuasion--to influence certain people in the Ministry. I am sure there are many there indebted to you, or who can otherwise be convinced." Meaning blackmailed or threatened, of course. 

"Do you suppose," Malfoy was suddenly acting very busy, with the occasional glance at his watch, his fingers drumming the tabletop, "that I am entirely free of suspicion myself? Really, Mr. Snape.." He sounded distinctly annoyed that a schoolboy would ask something so dangerous of a great man such as himself. 

"Surely they will not dare touch the Malfoy family," Snape said smoothly. He had expected this kind of reaction. He didn't think Malfoy would pull strings for him just because his future was forfeit: Lucius Malfoy wasn't the kind of man who would so much as lift a finger for anyone unless there was something in it for himself. 

"There is no respect for pure wizarding blood anymore," Malfoy said petulantly, and Snape added another entry to his list of Malfoy characterization: A man who would whine about a pricked finger to someone who had lost an arm. "I really cannot take such risks..." Malfoy looked at his watch again, clearly wanting to say this meeting was over. 

"Even to get rid of Poliakoff?" Snape shot before Malfoy could make another move. 

Malfoy stared at him a moment. Then two spots of color appeared high on his cheekbones, and he leaned forward angrily. "Poliakoff? How do you know that? Have your little friends been talking to you again?" His voice was a dangerous hiss. 

Snape just stared back with the beginning of a smirk. There had been little he couldn't draw out of Avery, Rosier, or Wilkes with some well-phrased questions and ego-boosting. 

"Mr. Malfoy, I assure you the information is safe in _my_ hands," he said silkily. Let Malfoy think the others untrustworthy-- it would make his own stance that much stronger. Not that Poliakoff's being a thorn in Malfoy's side was much of a secret, if one knew where to ask. "You may even be glad that I found out about this." 

Without warning Malfoy plunged his hand inside his robes, but Snape was ready for him. He immediately said "Expelliarmus" without seeming to move a finger, and Malfoy's wand flew out of his hand, clattering across the table to rest beside Snape's glass. 

"What-" Malfoy looked bewildered, then he looked at Snape's hands--the right one resting, empty, on the table, but the left had been under it the entire time. "You--had your wand pointed--" 

"Under the table, since before you came in," Snape finished calmly. "Maybe you should learn to be on time for your appointments, Mr. Malfoy." He had learned the hard way not to trust Death Eaters. He could thank Mother and Septimius for that. "There was really no need to overreact, Mr. Malfoy. How would putting a Memory Charm on me have helped you?" He went on conversationally, picking up Malfoy's elegant, polished wand and handing it over. No need to make the encounter hostile. "I, however, have something that could help." 

"Which is?" Malfoy was sullen, but he was listening. Cowards are quickly afraid once you've shown you're not afraid of them. 

"The Silent Death," Snape said in a voice barely a whisper. 

Then Malfoy straightened, and looked down his pale, long nose at the boy. "You're bluffing," he said triumphantly. "No student would have _that_ in their stores." Snape nevertheless saw the slightly wistful look in his eyes, and knew he had hit the bull's eye. 

"No," Snape agreed immediately, surprising Malfoy. "I don't have it on me. I have it in here," he said, tapping his greasy forehead, "and you have the tomes, ingredients and facilities I need." 

Some of Malfoy's usual bravado returned to his face. "A seventeen-year-old boy," he sneered, "brewing the deadliest and most undetectable poison yet discovered?" 

"No stranger than a seventeen-year-old boy brewing the most powerful Truth Potion in existence," Snape replied. Slowly he put his right hand into his robes and drew out a crystal vial full of-- 

"Veritaserum," he said, handing it to a skeptical-looking Lucius Malfoy. "Consider it a proof of my skills, Mr. Malfoy, or a gift from one--friend," an ill-concealed sneer escaped, "to another." The stuff was potent enough to make the Truth Potion the Aurors had used on him look like a miserable second-year experiment. Very few potion brewers were up to it, and the truth was he himself had not gotten it right without scores of failure. 

Malfoy held it up to the light. Severus knew he would see no distortion, because true Veritaserum, unlike water or any other liquid, was completely clear and did not distort the light. 

Still looking dubious, Lucius Malfoy put his wand tip to the side of the vial and said "Lumos!" The beam of light went through the liquid, entirely straight except where the crystal made it slightly crooked. 

Incredulously Malfoy turned to look at him. "You brewed this yourself?" 

"What point is there in my lying to you?" 

"And you would concoct--the other--if I..." 

"If you would be kind enough to work to return to me what is rightfully mine," Severus replied evenly. 

Slowly Malfoy regained his composure, his eyes flicking over Snape in calculation. Severus watched him, inwardly nervous. Success with Veritaserum, while extraordinary for an underage wizard like himself, was by no means proof he could brew the Silent Death poison. He could only hope Malfoy had been sufficiently impressed by his cunning and potential to... 

Malfoy held out his hand over the table. "All right," he drawled. "We have a deal, Mr. Snape." 

Almost not believing his good luck, Snape reached out and took Malfoy's cold, weak hand. They shook on it briefly. 

"After the decision to contain your assets has been reversed," Malfoy went on, "we will set a date for you to come to Malfoy Manor to work on it." 

Snape nodded mutely. _You didn't seem so sure of the outcome only five minutes ago,_ he thought nastily. 

Malfoy then looked from the vial he still held to Snape. "And I shall use your--gift--well, Snape," he said in a lower voice. Snape could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He wondered what kind of uses Malfoy had in mind for it, then stopped the train of thought. He simply made a mental note not to drink anything at Malfoy Manor when he went there. 

When, not if. He had confidence in the man, if virtually no other positive feelings. 

  


* * *

Two weeks, twenty pieces of various broken glassware, a dozen dead mice, and fifty extremely frustrated hours later, Snape leaned over a cageful of frisky, squeaking mice to pull on a cord hanging from the dungeon ceiling. 

Malfoy, evidently, had not learned his lesson on punctuality very well. As he waited for the arrogant fool to show up the intense cold and fatigue caught up with him for the first time. Suddenly shuddering uncontrollably he held his cloak more tightly about him with numb fingers. 

For the past two days he had been a virtual prisoner in this dungeon lab in the Malfoy Manor underground. A week ago he had received the notice that he was in full control of his assets once more, and Malfoy had wasted no time in setting the date for him to visit a "relative" over the weekend-- not a complete ruse, since it turned out they _were_ distantly related, much to Snape's disgust. Once he was brought to the brooding, unwelcoming mansion Malfoy had told him curtly that he wished the potion to be completed as soon as possible and that any delay would arouse suspicion. Snape, in turn, had informed his host in no uncertain (or pleasant) terms that he would brook no interruption of any sort. 

And so, imprisoned by Malfoy's will, a nearly impossible time limit, and his own determination, he had spent the last two days sleepless and in feverish concentration brewing a potion that he soon realized was far beyond his capability. 

Still, with a grim and slightly over-the-edge stubbornness he had kept on, one untouched, stale meal after another disappearing just as unintrusively as it had appeared while he bent over the cauldron experimenting, deciphering, calculating, and at times irately dashing vials and test tubes against the walls. Test subjects had been brought in by an extremely nervous-looking house elf when he called for them. 

Those test subjects now floated around in formaldehyde bottles in progressively less lurid forms. The first of them did not look like rats at all, others were in, out, and around the line of grotesqueness, but the last few looked definitely like rats who had died before they'd known what had hit them. Snape looked at the last in line with something like fondness. He had failed to detect any sign of poisoning from the last one and the only cause of death he could find was a rodent version of cardiac arrest-- a sure sign of success. 

The Silent Death. He had done it. After fifty straight, sleepless hours in the blastedly cold though equally well-equipped dungeon he had successfully concocted one of the deadliest poisons in existence, and its antidote. Though he was so tired he had to fight to stay upright, he actually smiled. 

Just then the door creaked open and Malfoy strolled in in his elegant dressing gown and slippers, a carefully detached indifference barely masking his look of avid anticipation. 

"Have you got it?" He asked with feigned disinterest, pale eyes darting around. 

"What, you think I fell and grabbed at the bell cord for support?" Snape bit out, though at the moment he didn't feel too far from it. 

"The test succeeded, then?" Malfoy looked at the row of preserved rats, carefully turning his eyes away from the other-worldly repulsiveness of the first few. 

Snape put on an amused smirk at his discomfort. "Yes. The antidote, too." He pointed at the live rats in the cage. "Both work. No one will detect any poison, or attempt at poisoning. A sudden heart attack is what they'll say." He pointed at the row of three blue vials and three red sitting on the counter. "All yours. The blue are the poison, the red the antidote." 

"Well," said Malfoy lazily, triumph finally creeping into eyes that had concealed irritated anxiety for too long, "about time, I should say--you took two solid days." He turned and went out, Snape trailing him. 

As they left the dungeon Snape noticed Malfoy glancing at him sideways, scrutinizing him. More closely than he liked. 

As they made their way out of the labyrinthine passages that lay under the Manor, Malfoy asked, "So, where do you plan on spending the summer, Severus?" 

What was putting Malfoy suddenly in the mood for small talk? "At Hogwarts," Severus replied shortly. He was actually looking forward to summer for the first time-- he would be working as Professor Zabini's personal assistant, and besides earning some extra credits and a few Galleons, he couldn't wait to get his hands on the more advanced material he would surely learn under Zabini. His family should have done him the favor of going into hiding sooner. 

"Hogwarts?" Malfoy's tone of voice made it sound like a penitentiary. "Why?" 

None of your damned business, Severus thought, and said, "Albus Dumbledore does not trust me--he wishes to keep an eye on me and does not wish to turn me loose during the summer, now that he knows about my family." To each his own language, he thought. Lucius Malfoy would not understand a word if he said _Dumbledore fears for my safety and integrity,_ and would sneer finely if he said _The Old Fool has evidently made me one of his charity cases._

"Well, since it seems evident you have no place to stay," said Malfoy, smoothly ignoring the Hogwarts option, "let me extend to you a formal invitation to Malfoy Manor over the summer." 

Snape gaped at him for a moment, astonished. Lucius Malfoy clearly didn't like him any better than he did Malfoy-- so why this sudden invitation to his own home? 

There was only one way to find out. "Well, sir," he said, sounding flabbergasted. "I really don't--I thank--" 

"No need to thank me, Severus," Malfoy interrupted smugly. "I simply think you would enjoy the stay, with your dear mother and brother abroad--" he made it sound like they were on a trip or something--"and our library and laboratory open to you..." 

_That's it...draw out your cards--let's see what you're about..._"But sir, I couldn't. Albus Dumbledore...And I still have a year of school..." 

Malfoy laughed; a short, harsh laugh that was somehow worse than a snarl. "Dumbledore? School? Why consider yourself with _those_, boy, when you have immense power just begging to be put to use? Why you could become a full-fledged wizard _here_, boy--" his voice lowered to a tempting whisper. They had stopped walking, and a chill draft swept by them from the foyer just around the corner as they stood, now facing each other. "Think of the unfettered research and learning you can get, away from the Old Fool's eyes and jealous restrictions. Under my protection the Ministry can't harm you anymore, nor can anyone else. My father is growing old and ineffective-- everyone knows I am the most important member of the inner sanctum. You will get a head start as no wizard of your age and station could ever dream of..." 

Severus just stared as if petrified. Suddenly feeling dizzy and half-blinded by the brighter light outside the dungeon, he trembled to stay upright. He knew--knew not to trust a Death Eater. He knew Malfoy just wanted him around as his puppet, the brewer of his dirty little secrets, a shadow. Yet the horrible thing was, he knew that even in such an existence he could actually get the things Malfoy was offering him. No more restriction on his Dark Arts studies--no more harassment from the Ministry--power, if only a reflection of it... He couldn't immediately tell Malfoy where he could shove his offer, as Potter and Black would have. He was not what they were... 

_Neither can you run from what you are. You can only fight it, if you have the strength. _ Without warning the words seared through his head, leaving him reeling: The words Redwood had had the gall to say to him, the very morning after he had used the Crucio Curse on Snape. It may have been last November, but Snape had the revolting feeling as if the Auror were speaking right into his ear at that moment. 

_Bastard,_ he thought. _You arrogant son of a bitch. Think the big tough Auror is the only one who knows how to fight, do you?_

"Well, boy?" Prompted Malfoy, and Snape could see that gleam of triumph in his eyes again. 

"I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Malfoy," he heard himself say coldly. "You are most generous. But I must respectfully decline." And he swept from the hallway into the drafty, darkly splendid vestibule, and his only thought was to get out of there as quickly as he could. 

He was heading across the floor toward the forbidding double doors wondering where his broomstick was when Malfoy called him. 

"Snape!" 

He spun around coolly. Malfoy came up to him, a twisted sneer on his pale lips. 

"The poison you left in my possession," Malfoy hissed, "it's a _very_ clever piece of work. So clever, I am certain a number of people would be most interested. People like _Dumbledore_, for instance." 

Snape laughed in the man's face. "Fine, go ahead. Try to get me expelled, or get me sent to Azkaban. I have my own story to tell, and you won't look very good in it, Malfoy." He watched as Lucius Malfoy's face contorted in anger and frustration. "What can you do to me? Ruin me? Control me? Torture and kill me? Be my guest--at least the killing part will be a novelty." He matched glare for cold glare, sneer for angry sneer. With a cunning beyond his years and the mad recklessness of a seventeen-year-old, he stared down one of the most influential Dark wizards in the wizarding world. 

Calmly he watched Malfoy back down, as he knew he would. "Just remember, Malfoy," he said quietly. "I am far more useful to you on my own terms. Now, my broom." 

Lips curling and looking confounded underneath the haughty, aristocratic mask, Malfoy barked for his guest's broom to be brought. He stepped outside with Snape, a servant unobtrusively coming over to drape a cloak over his dressing gown as they reached the double doors. 

"Your mother and brother are doing well," Malfoy said abruptly as Snape mounted his old but little-used Mari Seven. "The Lord is most pleased with them. I must say, I never expected to meet a dull Snape." He had managed to slap his customary sneer back on. 

"And I never thought I'd meet a Malfoy who didn't know when a deal is closed," Snape replied tersely. "Thank you for all you've done, Mr. Malfoy." Without waiting for a reply he took off into the night. 

The warm night air flapped his robes about him as he soared through it and set the course for Hogwarts. If he hurried he would be in time for curfew. 

A belated sense of elation welled up in him as the fact hit home for the first time--for once, he had tried to take charge of his life and succeeded. Where had all his twelve O.W.L.s, way above-average grades, his prefect's badge and determination to do the right thing led him? Murder and torture. But once he used his cunning with his considerable skills in the Dark Arts as a playing card, he could now finish school and take the N.E.W.T.s. He had secured his own future without Dumbledore's or anyone's help. And, he thought with an inward shrug, he had only sold a couple of potions, not his soul. Even if it meant he would need his sleeping draught if he ever heard that Poliakoff, or anyone else who Malfoy could reach for that matter, had died of a heart attack. 

_You can only fight it, if you have the strength._

The words were still fresh as a bleeding cut, and he scowled. _So I am fighting,_ he thought. _So I am._ If he could have nothing else, he would not be denied one thing--control over his own destiny. He would no longer be dragged this way and that by the will of others--not the family that had disowned him, not Dumbledore, the Ministry, or Voldemort and his goons. It was all he had, that one basic dignity. To be left alone. 

He was flying over wooded, mountainous ground now. The expanse of forest spread out below in shadows of impenetrable black and deepest blue, like a vast bruise. He checked his bearings and bore a little more to the east, wrestling the old broomstick into the change of direction. 

_Be my guest--at least the killing part will be a novelty._ He had halfway meant those words, half hoped, in his mad self-destructive mood, that Malfoy would take him up on those words... His grip on the broomstick tightened a little as he remembered the letters Malfoy had given him. _You are no son of mine_--_You are a traitor to the family name and no longer my brother_-- Standard disownment fare, and he had watched them burn to ashes. 

Why should he care what happened to himself when no one cared anymore? 

Someone had cared once, and he had taken every measure to make sure she would no longer care-- and now, more than ever, he was glad he had done so. As long as _she_ remained untouched by the darkness that pervaded his life, if she knew only light and joy-- then no matter what depths he plunged to, a small part of him would still remain untouched, untainted. He shook his head to clear the foolish notion away. _Idiot,_ he thought angrily. 

Malfoy Manor, with all its centuries of darkness and secrets and temptations, was far behind now. Ahead lay the towers and turrets of Hogwarts, the school, the fortress against the Dark outside. 

  


* * *

Notes: Eternal thanks to Jedi Boadicea for reading this over and giving invaluable advice. Also, I drew inspiration from Eline's fic, "Sacrifice," where Malfoy is always fashionably late. The characterization of Lucius Malfoy draws heavily from Eline's fics. If you haven't read Eline's and Jedi Boadicea's fics, folks, you do not know what you're missing. 


	13. Some Graduation

**I Was Right**

**Chapter 13: Some Graduation**

My profoundest thanks for Jedi Boadicea, who beta-read this for me and gave me both confidence and many much-needed pieces of advice and correction. Her fics are excellent--you really don't know what you're missing if you haven't seen them yet! I am her proud No. 1 fan, and if any of you want the distinction you're going to have to fight me to the bitter end for it... ;-)

Thanks, also, to Morrighan, who set me right about English breakfasts. I am completely in love with her fics(including an excellent Snapefic, _The Long Road to Damascus_), and I am proud to be beta-ing for her.

Disclaimer(just obligatory, as you know--skip to the story if you wish): As always, everything belongs to JK Rowling the Magnificent, except the crazy plot, excessive angst, some minor characters, and the folks who are killed or incarcerated in this part. Other things that I don't own:   
Mannaz, the rune symbolizing the individual's place in the community.  
An Ursula K. LeGuin quote, "...for she had lost that minimal trust in the world, called sanity." (from _Winter's King,_ from the anthology _The Wind's Twelve Quarters_.)  
A quote from the final message of Mordechai Anielewicz, A leader of the Jewish resistence in the Warsaw ghettos before the resistence was crushed and he committed suicide. "Sensing the end, we demand this from you: Remember how we were betrayed. There will come a time of reckoning for our spilled, innocent blood. ..."  
And that thing about remembering the best/worst of people comes from a self-help book...called _Live Your Life the Way You Want_ or something like that. Somebody get Sevvie a copy...

* * *

His last summer in Hogwarts and his seventh year passed by quickly. Later, when he looked back on that time, he remembered it not in the terms of the things he learned, or the flurry of activity, the hellish study for the N.E.W.T.s, or even the animosity-ridden rivalry with the Gryffindors--it was the indecision he remembered the most. 

It was indecision over a decision that, from the outside, seemed already made...He was a Slytherin, famous for his fascination with the Dark Arts, biggest enemy of James Potter and his satellites who were as outspoken against Voldemort as they were outspoken about everything. Everything about Snape, indeed, pointed in one direction--except his actual convictions.

He was normally a smooth and remorseless liar, but he found it hard to lie on such a scale to the Slytherins he had, for better or for worse, spent the last six years with--particularly to the real fanatics Lestrange or Jin were daily becoming. He simply avoided further "after graduation" talks under pretense of studying or cooking up some plot or another against Potter and his cronies.

He suspected his gang were still in touch with Lucius Malfoy, but Malfoy himself never tried to contact him again-- must have realized he was more trouble than he was worth, which suited him just fine. He told himself he had nothing to think about except the usual schoolboy things: The N.E.W.T.s, the strutting Gryffindors, cheering Quidditch matches and watching Rosier and Wilkes trying to clobber Potter and Black out of existence with their beaters' clubs in addition to their Bludgers(and failing miserably, the fools), rivalries for the House cup. But the truth was, the 'nothing' underneath all that was the one that bothered him the most.

He told himself, over and over again, that he couldn't be bound by a promise to some redhead Mudblood in his fifth year. It was stupid. He didn't even have the excuse of sentimentality because he no longer felt anything--_anything_--for her. Whatever the nature of the short, confusingly platonic relationship had been, it was long dead. But that wasn't the only thing holding him back. He knew, as none of the others did, what taking a life felt like, and knew, firsthand, what the Unforgivable curses, the epitome of all things Dark, were like...

The months wore on and everyone's nerves got more than a little jumpy among the worsening conflict-- wizards who had been defying You-Know-Who being tortured or killed one day, Death Eaters killed or captured the next. And the gang, though to the outside they presented a united front, were losing patience with Snape.

"Hey, listen to this," Lestrange said one day over breakfast, "'Muggles Tortured and Killed in Bristol. Suspected to Be You-Know-Who's Doing...' Really, what is the world coming to?" He shook his head over the _Daily Prophet_ with a contented mock sigh. The Slytherins within hearing laughed; Severus did not.

Avery leaned over to look at the paper. Snape noticed his beady eyes glancing over at him. "Whoa, you won't believe what they did to this one Muggle brat!" Avery exclaimed. "Its head was absolutely--"

Severus slammed down his Ancient Runes textbook so hard that bits of bacon went flying in all directions. "Must you talk about that over breakfast?" He snapped over the sudden silence. He had been taking these subtle jabs silently for months, and he was thoroughly fed up, especially with the interpretation of Mannaz in context giving him a headache at the moment.

"Interesting you should say so, Severus," Avery said with feigned geniality. "Concerned about the welfare of Muggles?" He sneered.

"More like for the welfare of my appetite," Snape retorted. "Did anyone tell you that you have a sick mind?"

"Sick? Am I sick, Evan?" Asked Avery off-handedly, his eyes never leaving Snape's.

"Perhaps," Rosier replied lazily from across the table, eyes glinting maliciously in Snape's direction. "But I'd say it's better than being a pathetic, two-minded coward and a traitor to boot."

_Traitor._ His temples pounded as if the blood was trying to escape the bounds of blood vessels; his neck went suddenly and painfully rigid, the inside of his head turned hot and white, and in the center of his suddenly reddened field of vision Rosier smirked at the look on his face. The next moment bowls of sausages and tomatoes went flying as Rosier was dragged halfway across the table by the front of his robes. With his free hand Snape pressed his wand into Rosier's neck. With that he felt the pressure in his temple ease somewhat, and his vision cleared. He looked deep into Rosier's eyes, and with the greatest satisfaction watched him squirm.

Amid horrified shouts and approaching footsteps Severus said in his most dangerous voice, "I am not taking any more of this." He spoke to Rosier's face but knew the gang, now standing around but not daring to approach, would hear him. "Do you doubt my ability in the Dark Arts? Or my commitment to it? I could prove both right this second." The faces of teachers appeared behind the circle of Slytherins, and he tightened his grip and pressed the wand tip even harder, making Rosier wince. "I could blow your head away right this moment, shrivel it to a husk, or make it rot. Should I, Evan? Alan? Mei-lin?"

"Snape." Professor Baddock's voice came from one side, hushed and low, as if he was afraid of triggering off his perhaps least stable student by exciting him. "Let Rosier go. This can be resolved by words."

"You don't seem to think I should," Snape went on in a malevolent whisper, nose to nose with Rosier's deathly pale face and looking sidelong at the others' frightened, tense ones--and enjoying the sensation. God, he loved the feeling of having them all at his fingertips. "Then I would advise you to leave me alone now. Do not question me. Got that?" Then he threw back Rosier, who immediately landed on the floor, pale and breathing heavily. An audible sigh of relief came from the surrounding crowd, and Snape felt a satisfied smirk cross his face.

A rough hand grabbed his arm. "Snape, my office. Right now." Baddock's voice spelled out loads of trouble for him, but he hardly cared. He had a brief glance of Dumbledore's grave, concerned face as he was all but dragged from the hall, but he didn't give a damn for that, either. He felt light-headed, intoxicated. Now he knew what it must be like to get drunk--the brief sense of power he had experienced had left him just that, drunk. The pale, frightened Slytherins watching him seemed more like the ones facing punishment.

Had the specifics of the argument been revealed, especially what he had said to Rosier, he would have been in serious trouble, but Rosier and the others didn't go into any details, either with their Head of House or with the Headmaster. He got twenty points off Slytherin and a week of detention.

Later that day, he recalled the immense feeling of power having Rosier at his mercy had given him--and realized, with a sinking heart, that this Dark business was like spiderwebs, quicksand, or giant Venus flytraps: Every effort to struggle free just got him in deeper.

But that still didn't bring him any closer to his decision.

At any rate, the little scene had its desired effect--he was still with the gang, but they no longer bugged him about his allegiances or decisions. They also kept a distance that wasn't there before, but this was fine with him. Pathetic, two-minded coward or not, traitor to Slytherin or not, his seventh and final year at Hogwarts sped on despite all the doubts and uncertainties that plagued him.

* * *

Graduation day dawned bright and clear, and the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall showed a clear, sunlit sky without a cloud in sight. Snape looked up from his toast wondering if the professors had worked weather magic to ensure such perfect conditions. He glanced over at the staff table only to notice that the aged headmaster was absent from his usual seat at the center--as was his head of house. So _were_ they off working weather magic or something? 

He shook his head almost cheerfully and went back to eating. It would be his--their--last meal as Hogwarts students; the ceremony took place later in the morning and by lunchtime, they would be official graduates. They would then spend one last night in the dormitories, though they were more likely to be celebrating than sleeping, and the next day's Hogwarts Express would be carrying full-fledged wizards out into the world.

_Waxing sentimental,_ he told himself. He felt he deserved a bit of it, though, since his school years, for all the trouble and bother he had gone through, had been fairly fruitful. He had passed all seven N.E.W.T.s with flying colors, with special mentions in Potions. Admittedly Potter and Black had done even better, but he ranked top among the Slytherins. He was a prefect, with excellent grades and twelve O.W.L.s--he could get a job at the Ministry for certain, unless his family ties worked against him.

Or he could become quite a competent Death Eater, with family ties to help him out.

Exaperated with himself and sick of the same old uncertainty, he concentrated on the excited conversation around him, about post-graduation plans for the summer.

"I will be visiting relatives abroad," Mei-lin was saying. "That is, unless I am--contacted."

"Same here," said Alan. "I'll cut the trip to France short any time if they contact me."

Snape got the distinct impression that the gang were more excited about this possible 'contact' than the places they would be going.

"I'll be staying home, helping my old man out," said Wilkes. "They can reach me any time they want." After a pause he added, "And you, Severus?"

Snape could tell this was an invitation of sorts, a gentle prod to see if he would finally join them. He had been remarkably elusive on this point, and while they did not dare push him after the Rosier incident months ago, they still wanted to know which way his allegiance lay. He was, after all, the most skilled in Potions and the most knowledgeable in the Dark Arts, and he was part of the gang, however precariously.

Just then Professor McGonagall stood up and called for attention.

"May I have your attention, please. I would like the following six students to come my office after breakfast to discuss the specifics of the graduation ceremony."

Everyone sat up a little straighter. Those six were the Head Boy and Head Girl--James Potter and Lily Evans--and the representatives of the four Houses, all of whom would be receiving their diplomas in front of the entire school. And while the choices for House representatives were usually fairly obvious, it was always exciting to hear the names being spoken before the school. In Slytherin's case it would be Snape, being a prefect and having the best grades and overall record, though Mei-lin Jin was a close second.

"James Potter, Head Boy and valedictorian."

Immediately, the entire Great Hall broke into applause and cheers, and even some Slytherins joined in. McGonagall peered sternly over her spectacles. "Now really, this is a summons, not the ceremony itself." But a rare smile twinkled in her eyes, and it took some time for the tumult, particularly at the Gryffindor table, to die down.

Oh yes, thought Snape, bitterness rising in him like bile. James Potter, Head Boy, valedictorian, Quidditch captain, all-around Hogwarts poster boy. James Potter, the golden boy of Hogwarts, a beacon in these dark times--and also, he thought with a trace of queasiness, the one to whom he owed a life-debt. Damn him. Why was it Perfect Potter, of all people, who had come after him after Black's psychotic prank? No matter. He'd make up for that someday.

"Lily Evans, Head Girl." Again there were applause and cheers, almost as loud as for Potter. There also seemed to be liberal amounts of teasing, no doubt about Potter. As a matter of fact, people talked all the time about Evans _becoming_ a Potter in the near future. Snape didn't feel anything in particular when he heard such gossip, other than an urge to go someplace private and be sick.

"Sirius Black, representative of Gryffindor." Snape gave a deadly glare as the commotion grew, if possible, even noisier and much rowdier. He wasn't about to forget anytime soon how Black had tried to kill him...well, at least it wasn't the werewolf who would represent the house in the ceremony. Not even Gryffindor could sink _that_ low.

Just then, something tapped him on the hand impatiently. He turned his head to see an official-looking owl looking at him, a letter tied to its leg.

Scowling, he took the letter and opened it as the Hall quieted down once more--and as he read the letter, he felt his face grow deathly white.

"Miranda Summers, representative of Hufflepuff." Both McGonagall's voice and the following applause seemed to come from very far away. Shakily Snape stood up and made his way towards the staff table, ignoring the curious stares that came his way. He lurched over to the surprised-looking McGonagall and spoke to her, hardly knowing what he was saying. By the horrified look on her face he could guess he had gotten his point across. He looked up at Dumbledore's and Baddock's empty seats, slowly realizing that their absences had little to do with the weather.

"You--have my leave to go, Snape," McGonagall said in a strained voice. "By Merlin--Albus and Matthew left so suddenly--but I never thought--" she caught herself quickly and went on. "Your diploma will be left at your room at the dormitory, and should you fail to return within the night it will be mailed to your home along with your baggage."

"Thank you." He hardly understood a word of what she had said. With a last hoarse "Please don't tell the students," he turned away and headed for the doors. As he turned away he saw McGonagall quickly regaining her composure and conferring hurriedly with the other teachers.

"Carl Davies, representative of Ravenclaw," McGonagall was continuing as he walked away from the Great Hall. He was considerably calmer now--or numb, rather.

"And Mei-lin Jin, representative of Slytherin. These six students will report to my office at nine o' clock..." Her voice was cut off as Snape walked down the entrance hall and out the doors.

* * *

When Severus Apparated in front of the Ministry headquarters, he wasted no time in entering and giving his name and the letter the owl had brought him to the wizard at the front desk. The wizard cast him a quick, searching look, magically verified the seal on the letter he was carrying, then asked for his wand. 

He stared. "My what?"

"Your wand, please," the wizard repeated. "Hold your wand in the middle so that it points sideways and give it to me. It will be returned to you when you leave the building."

"B-but," he stammered, "I'm not a suspect or anything. I'm here to--"

"I'm sorry, standard procedure," the wizard cut in. "To go in, you must check in your wand."

He wondered if this were standard procedure for all non-personnel or--damn it all to hell, what did it matter? He'd wasted enough time. Slowly he put a hand in his robes. The wizard looked calm and businesslike but alert, and looked ready to use his own wand at the slightest false move. Snape held the wand so that it pointed to either side of his closed fist, and held it out horizontally. It was taken from him, and he felt strangely vulnerable as he watched it being tossed into a bin with about a dozen others. The wizard then gave him directions to a room on the second floor and turned back to his papers without a second glance.

The interior of the building was strangely cool for June. Severus felt a chill enter his bones as if a shadow had fallen over him, blocking out light and warmth. _Fear and shock,_ a detached, clinical voice said calmly inside his head. _Just stay cool._

He stood before the door of the room he had been directed to, trying to stop his hand from shaking. It seemed like a dream, the letter and his coming here...He felt he would wake any moment now, to find he had overslept with McGonagall yelling at him--_"You're late, Snape! When you're representing your House at the ceremony, too!"_

Okay, he thought. Just a dream. Just a dream...

And he reached out with a finally steady hand to grasp the knob and pushed the door open.

"Mr. Snape?" The thickset, bespectacled wizard who looked up from his desk looked very solid and real. Snape nodded numbly, the second of deluded courage he had managed to scrape up now gone.

"Sit down, please," the man said briskly, and Snape obeyed. He glanced disinterestedly at the plaque on the desk--Jonathan Stebbins, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "You are Mr. Severus Snape, the younger of two sons born of Alexander and Juno Snape?"

Snape nodded. "Yes," he said.

"Did you receive, peruse, and fully comprehend the Ministry's notification?"

Snape nodded again, then managed to say "Yes" without sounding hoarse or shaky.

"We need you to sign some papers," Stebbins went on in a businesslike way. "This, confirming that you have been informed of your mother Juno Snape's being taken custody by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and this one, that you have been informed of your brother Septimius Snape's death."

Wordlessly Snape signed them each in turn. Was it another bit of standard procedure to have the Dark wizards' next of kin sign stupid papers without letting them see their family members? Seeing his brother's body and his mother behind bars would certainly be a lot more informative than a letter over breakfast. The initial shock was wearing off as the unthinkable quickly settled itself into reality, but at the same time he felt himself grow impatient and edgy.

Stebbins took back the pieces of parchment and launched into an explanation of events. Snape heard him without really listening. Four civilians dead: Two Muggles, a witch, a wizard. A Hit Wizard dead. Heinous crime, of course. He would expect no less--or no better, depending on the point of view--from his family. Septimius and four other Death Eaters had been killed, and the others arrested, like Juno Snape. _Killing five people before breakfast, that's a good day's work by any standard,_ he thought sarcastically. _Too bad it's also their last._ He began tapping a foot on the floor, then stopped himself.

"Now, we ask for your full cooperation in the investigation, Mr. Snape," Stebbins was saying.

"All right," Snape said impatiently. There would be no trial for certain Death Eaters like Juno Snape, the investigation was mainly for intelligence purposes. Refusing cooperation would mean he would have no job and pretty soon no bank account. He knew the drill, as every Slytherin did--he had had his laboratory at Snape Manor dismantled before his sixth year, and anything of his remotely incriminating was hidden in his personal belongings currently at Hogwarts, which would not be searched if he cooperated freely. And this 'full cooperation' would mostly consist of helping get rid of the various traps around the Manor and long interrogations where he would feign ignorance to anything of importance. The Ministry, for all its tough posturing, never knew the huge gaps in security caused by its relatively lenient treatment of voluntary "cooperators."

The wizard seemed a little taken aback at the speed of his answer, and Snape realized he should have stalled a little. But his irritation was boiling inside like overheated pus now. How much longer did he have to put up with the man's prattling?

"Well, then, please sign this agreement," said Stebbins, handing over another sheet of parchment. Silently, Snape signed it. He was now starting to think it was a good thing he had not been allowed his wand, for he felt like putting some really potent hexes on the man before him.

"And now, about the search on the Snapes' family estate--"

Snape couldn't take it any longer. "Could we talk about this some other time?" He cut in. "I would like to see Mrs. Snape now."

"I'm sorry, standard procedure," the wizard replied. "Now, your cooperation will be necessary in the process of searching--"

But Snape had stood up now, and he felt his own impatience as if it were a physical pain. "I have already promised full cooperation, Mr. Stebbins. I need to see--"

"Later." Stebbins sounded like his own patience was running thin. "She is safely in custody, and I assure you she is uninjured. Why would you need to see her?" He spoke as if it were highly unusual for a son to wish to see his mother at once, and Snape realized it really might be unusual. If his own family and the Slytherins he knew were any indication, few Stebbins dealt with would be exactly overflowing with familial affection. He paused. Why would he need to see her, indeed? She had used him, disowned him. What did he care what state she was in?

And yet he needed to know. He needed to know if she was in pain, suffering as she had suffered eleven years ago when his father died. The realization galled him. It has nothing to do with caring, he thought quickly. Needing to know is one thing, having any kind of emotion is another.

"Sit down, Mr. Snape." Stebbins was saying now.

"No, I will not sit down. I need to see her _now_." He bent over Stebbins's desk and looked him straight in the eyes.

Something about the look on his face seemed to have rumpled Stebbins's smooth bureaucratic blandness. He backed away, squirming in his chair, and Snape could tell he was half frightened despite himself, and angry for being frightened. "You can't do that. It's not in my--"

"Then call your superior, Mr. Stebbins, if you please," Snape rejoined smoothly, his voice low.

"Out of the question," Stebbins said. "I have been given orders to complete these forms before--"

"Forms?" Snape lost control of his voice at this point; he could feel it cracking. He grit his teeth--he was going to lose control over a lot more than his voice at this rate.

"Sit down, young man," the wizard said again with a firmness that he did not quite seem to feel. "We need to--"

"Mr. Stebbins," said Snape. "You need to call your superior and ask him--tell him--to let me see Mrs. Juno Snape. Otherwise," he added on sudden inspiration, "Pertinax Malfoy or his son may take a great interest in this matter." He knew he was name-dropping, and on Lucius Malfoy and his father of all people, but he was past caring.

Stebbins seemed to have sensed the danger in his voice. He also seemed to have forgotten that he had a wand while Snape did not. Looking thoroughly cowed in spite of himself, he reached over and brought a mirror close to his face. He muttered some words, and presently Snape caught snippets of a one-sided conversation. "Mr. Trimble? There's..." "Yes, he insists..." Then, finally, "Sir? Yes, sir." Stebbins looked up, looking confused. He stood up with a suspicious glance at Snape, said "Follow me, then," and walked out of the room. Snape followed, briefly wondering what had made Stebbins's boss give permission so quickly.

Snape followed him down the hall and into cold and gloomy hallways where there were little of the scuttling people and flurried activity that characterized the other passages he had passed. They passed through several iron bar doors on their way, each guarded by security wizards with their wands at the ready. He could tell they were entering a holding area of some sort. It was cold here, but he could feel his hands clammy with sweat. His former sense of urgency gave way to nervousness--what was he going to say to her, anyway? _Hullo, Mother, first time we're seeing each other since the time you and Septimius put the Imperius Curse on me. Haven't heard from you since the letter where you disowned me, how have you been? It's really too bad about Septimius--speaking of which, did he die painfully? Which I hope he did..._

Another door of iron bars clanged shut behind him and Stebbins and there was now a large, guarded metal door to their right, which Stebbins entered, followed by Snape.

They came into a small and low-ceilinged room without windows, the wall facing the door entirely made of opaque glass. Stebbins indicated a chair facing the glass wall, and Snape went to sit in it as Stebbins spoke to the stone-faced guard.

Snape stared at the blank glass before him; it seemed to radiate coldness, and the surface glowed with a blackened sort of brilliance. Magic-proof glass, he realized. To keep the visitor and the prisoner from destroying each other, he supposed. He could imagine that kind of thing very clearly.

And suddenly, as if a light had come on on the other side, the glass became transparent and there was a hunched figure sitting before him, close enough to reach out and touch but untouchable, of course. "You have ten minutes," came Stebbins' voice.

The strange thing was, she was nothing like the cool, collected, mockingly calm woman he knew--she sat bent over, head bowed, what he could see of her face gaunt and pale, eyes unfocused--yet she was very familiar. His heart sank. This woman, though altogether different from the mother he remembered, was branded into his memory forever: She had looked just like this eleven years ago when Alexander Snape was killed.

"Mother?" He called, feeling suddenly very young, very...six years old.

_Juno Snape, after the day she had watched her husband, a Dark wizard, die at the hands of Aurors, would sit wordless and expressionless, not responding when someone spoke to her..._

She continued to look down at the floor, not meeting his eyes, appearing not to have even heard him.

_She would not even look at six-year-old Severus or ten-year-old Septimius..._

"Mother!" He called more loudly, tapping at the glass in frustration. Had these Ministry fools made the partition soundproof as well as magic-proof?

_She would not eat and would not sleep, and sat unresponsive for endless hours until suddenly she would start speaking..._

Snape gave up: Obviously she was in too much shock to speak to him. He looked up at the ceiling, then down at the floor, and listened to the clock ticking away his remaining visiting time. Just then Juno Snape raised her head and spoke.

"Why did you come here?" Her voice was a low rasp, again not her usual voice but familiar to him from the decade-old memories. The cold black eyes both her sons had inherited looked straight into his, wide and bloodshot.

_I came to see you._ But he saw the look on her face, in her eyes, and knew he would rip out his own entrails with a grappling hook before saying that to her face. The results with the hook would be a lot less painful, too.

"I was summoned," he said coldly. "You don't think I wanted to come?"

_She would start shouting without provocation; scream at her children; throw things and hurt herself._

"How dare you show your face here?" Grief certainly had not taken the edge off her venom. Her voice rose as she continued. "Have you come to gloat over me, Severus? Over your fallen brother?"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came.

"You betrayed us." Hatred burned in her eyes, all black irises and broken red veins. "You betrayed the family name, the Dark Lord, our honor."

He finally found his voice. "I was tortured," he snarled. "You think _that_ was a picnic?"

"You were always a weakling," she sneered. "You were never half the man Septimius was."

_Septimius and Severus would huddle together, frightened, Severus crying helplessly into his brother's shoulder and Septimius holding back his own tears..._

Stung by the contempt in her voice, Severus found himself lashing out where he knew would hurt her most. "Yeah, '_was_,' not 'is.' Your precious Septimius is dead," he sneered back.

There was a long pause, and Snape watched expressionlessly as the muscles in her jaw worked tightly, her neck straining impossibly. "Yes, dead." Her face had gone pale as death, and her voice was little more than a scraping whisper. Then suddenly, like a tendon snapping at its limit, the last vestiges of her self-control broke and she screamed out. "Dead!" She looked up, shaking, and pointed an accusing finger. "You as good as killed him--traitor!"

Snape stood up abruptly, and heard, as if from very far away, the chair clattering to the floor. He tried to speak, but was again forcefully reminded that she was one of the very few people who could strike him speechless. Muddled images came to him of a harpy he had killed in his third year; its scream ringing in his ears again, so much like the screams of the woman before him, and the dead face...

"Oh, this is just great!" Severus shouted back. Anything to rid the picture from his mind. "You're not even in Azkaban yet and already you're raving mad!"

Juno Snape stood, shaking, and faced her son. "Why is _he_ dead, and not you?" She shrieked. "_You_ are the one that should have died!"

_She doesn't mean what she's saying, Severus, ten-year-old Septimius Snape had murmured to his little brother, blocking the six-year-old's ears to the torrent of verbal abuse. She doesn't even know what she's saying, don't cry, Sevvie..._

"Yeah, you're one to speak! If you hadn't dragged him into this Death Eater business he'd still be alive!" And to his amazement, Snape realized he actually meant this, was actually sorry Septimius was dead.

She completely broke down at this point. He watched her collapse to the floor, her screams melting into wracking sobs. She was just before him, within arm's length, but the years of distance and the poison of pointless accusations stood in the way more surely than the ice-cold wall of glass. He looked down at her, face and eyes steady, then bent down, leaning forward. Her words still scratched at him like talons clawing his eyes out, and caught helplessly in the raw pain he lashed out in the only way he knew. He put his lips almost to the glass and spoke.

"Everyone you've ever lived for, everything you've worked for is gone, wasted. You say I should have died, but as for you, it would have been better if you had never lived. Your whole life is a waste, do you know that? And it's all over now, even before the death of your body. You have no chance to make amends, no chance at vengeance or anything else, because you will never see the light of day again." His voice was very low and smooth, almost a whisper, but he could tell she had heard him, from the rising pitch of her sobs.

"Time's up, Mr. Snape," said Stebbins' voice behind him, and Snape straightened up. "Give my regards to the Dementors, _Mother,_" he sneered, and her sobs were cut off as the other side of the glass darkened, turning the wall black and opaque once more. He turned away and followed Stebbins from the room.

The sidelong glance Stebbins gave him as they left the room looked slightly sickened, as if to say, "Was _that_ what you wanted to see her for?" Snape only gazed straight ahead, clenching his jaws and hands to keep them from trembling. Rage, grief, and exhaustion mingled together now struck him like the aftershock of an earthquake, and it took an effort just to keep walking. Stebbins looked away with a shake of the head that clearly showed he thought them all nuts.

_Yes, we're nuts, all right,_ Severus thought as they cleared the first of the clanging metal doors. _Mother and Septimius, and, by induction, I._ For it took something horribly wrong, a serious perversion of the mind, to do what they had done this morning: To attack a graduation party that Hogwarts graduates' parents, four Muggles and six wizards, were getting ready for; to kill the Muggle couple and the wizard couple that were defending them, and then put the Imperius curse on the remaining wizards torture the other two Muggles. The surviving Muggles had gone to the brink of madness before Aurors and Hit Wizards had come to the rescue. What was to be a joyous celebration turned into a hell-fest of killing and torture at the bidding of the Dark Lord. _Fools,_ he thought. _Did they think Voldemort would permit that kind of thing, wizards celebrating with Muggles? Did they imagine he wouldn't use it as a chance to warn the world that he meant business?_

Once back at Stebbins' office Snape sat without hearing a word the bureaucrat was saying and signed anything he was given. The papers could have been agreements to hand all his property over to the Ministry or sell himself in slavery, for all he cared. He just wanted it to get it over with so that he would be left alone. All the while, he couldn't help thinking--in Azkaban, would she see the people she loved most in life die, over and over again? His father, dead before he hit the ground--Septimius, lying in a pool of his own blood--until she forgot who she was and slowly lost that minimal confidence in the world, called sanity...

The mirror on Stebbins' desk started flashing and the wizard tapped it placidly. "Yes?" Moments later, he said, sounding flabbergasted, "Oh, yes, I see...Yes, we're just about done here...Yes, right away."

As the glow in the mirror faded, he turned to Snape and said, "Mr. Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries wants to see you."

"What for?" Snape asked. Not that he cared--he was feeling strangely hollow inside, not to mention tired.

"I wouldn't know--it's the Department of Mysteries, after all," answered Stebbins. "Here, better use the Intra-Ministry Floo Network..." He had practically dragged Snape off his feet and led him in front of the fireplace. The container he held out at Snape was full of white powder instead of the usual green Floo powder. He waited for Snape to listlessly take a handful the lighted the fire with a flick of his wand.

"It's no different from using normal Floo powder. Just it in and say 'Mr. Rookwood's office,' and it will get you there." Snape did as he was told, and presently found himself spinning through the tunnels of the Floo Network...

...And he emerged into a sparsely furnished, Spartan office. A desk overflowing with paper stood facing the wall where the fireplace was, and a man looked up from the desk to look straight at him.

"Mr. Snape?" The wizard, evidently Mr. Rookwood, had a face that reminded Snape of a bird of prey--aquiline nose, sharp eyes, a thin slit of a mouth. He spoke sharply and without emotion.

"Yes." Feeling wary for no reason he could name, Snape walked over to the desk and stood before it, looking down at the rolls of parchment that cluttered the top, which immediately disappeared with a wave of Rookwood's wand. Snape blinked. Well, so he _was_ an Unspeakable.

"Sit, please."

Snape did so, and for a few moments Rookwood just continued to look down at him from his higher chair in silence. The piercing blue gaze made him uncomfortable in a way he wasn't used to, and Snape gazed back mutinously.

Presently Rookwood started speaking. "Are you aware, Mr. Snape, of the nature of your mother and brother's crimes?"

"Yes." _Don't start talking to me like you're some kind of judge._

"Both of them had a long and heinous record of Dark activity and violence, all the more damaging for keeping a low profile. Though not well known to the public, the Ministry's Aurors have been trying to find them for nearly two years now."

Was he supposed to take pride in that? From having kept his eye on the news he could tell they'd been keeping their heads low. It was a Snape thing, right up there with the sarcasm and the monomaniacal tendencies. He was feeling vaguely uneasy, though. Just why was Rookwood talking about their crimes to him?

Rookwood leaned forward slightly. "And now that your mother has been apprehended, you must understand there is no way she can escape a life sentence in Azkaban."

"I understand." What was the man getting to? And why did he get the feeling that he knew about it? Slowly, every fear, every premonition he had had since the day he learned of Septimius' involvement in Voldemort's rise, the feeling of abject helplessness that had overpowered him after his torture, crept out from the darkest recesses of his mind where he had hidden them.

"Except for one."

Snape heard a sharp intake of breath. It was a moment or two before he realized it was his own. Now a high-pitched warning bell, conditioned by too much experience and pain and those sleepless nights when he had feared for the future, went off in his head screaming _Get out of here, out of this conversation NOW._ But something deeper and stupider inside him prompted him to say slowly, "What do you mean?"

Was that a smile curling around Rookwood's thin lips? "We would like to make a deal with you, Mr. Snape."

"And what is that?" The frantic howling in his head was giving him a headache, and he spoke more sharply than he intended. Yet a part of his mind was strangely detached, looking on the scene with bemused, or perhaps amused, interest. It was like a mayfly spiralling into a lamp fire, a scene avoidable yet inevitable...

"That we find Mrs. Snape to be criminally insane and put her in the insanity ward at St. Mungo's Hospital instead of Azkaban," again that smile-like curving of the lips, "and in return you give us--inside information--about the activities of He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named and his supporters."

Inevitable, because of the mayfly's stupidity: Instincts made living things stupid, whether insect or human.

The room was plunged into silence as his mental warning bell shut up abruptly: He was now past the point of needing warnings of any kind. "And why do you think I would agree to a deal like that?" He asked calmly.

"It's your mother, after all."

"And what makes you think I care?" He had a sickening feeling he might know the answer...

"Your actions in Stebbins' office, for one," Rookwood answered, too unemotionally even to sound cool. "You seemed quite impatient to see her."

So that was it. He was being watched, his actions and responses being reported to an Unspeakable probably since the moment he entered the Ministry. He saw the look of arrogant, assured certainty in the other wizard's eyes, the eyes of a bird that had caught a prey that hadn't stood a chance in the first place.

"And from your obsession with the fact that your mother was going to Azkaban, during your meeting with her."

Snape forced himself to think clearly through the muddle in his head. "So why are you making me an offer like this?" He asked. "I'm sure not everyone gets this kind of --choice," he sneered at the last word.

"Quite right," said Rookwood, his sitting form looming over Snape. "We will be as open with you as is necessary. Mrs. Snape, with her late son, has kept her activities mostly out of the public spotlight, which means there will be no public repercussion against not putting her in Azkaban. Also, you have the abilities that you will need on the job--quick assessment of situations, emotional manipulation, and most of all, the ability to look men in the eye and make them uncomfortable enough to do your bidding--a most valuable qualification."

"How about the ability to detect deception?" Snape asked bitterly.

The Unspeakable raised an almost-amused eyebrow. "Deception? No real deception involved here, Mr. Snape--just observation. And switching the order of standard procedure around a bit. Stebbins really had been given explicit orders by his superior to complete those papers first thing, which makes your influencing him all the more remarkable."

_Flattering,_ Snape thought sardonically, _that all my so-called abilities are ones that go towards making me a better puppet for you._

"Besides which, you have considerable intelligence and the right connections," Rookwood's eyes glinted. "I understand you are the top student in Slytherin house?"

"I am certainly not the House representative," Snape said, suddenly wanting to know just how much Rookwood knew about him. "That honor goes to a friend of mine."

"If you say so." The corners of Rookwood's mouth curled again. Snape was not surprised that he knew so much, but just _how_ he knew so much bothered him. "At any rate, we are certain you will not be suspected, and that you can bring us valuable information."

"Would it considerably lower your opinion of my considerable intelligence if I asked you just what you expect me to do?" Snape asked bitingly.

"That," Rookwood said softly, "is none of our concern. Just as long as you give us such information as we are sure someone of your background and qualifications can provide."

_Oh, that's just it. Avoid any mention of the unpleasant details, so you can deny all involvement if things go awry..._ He could tell this was one deal that would definitely not go on record. And at any rate, who would know? This _was_ the Department of Mysteries, and regardless of what its actual job was, anything that went on here must be classified. Including shady back deals. _Especially_ shady back deals.

"I see. So there is no guarantee, no protection, no promise of immunity." Because there was only one way of garnering "inside information" from the ranks of the Death Eaters. He had watched his tidy little family business long enough to know that they trusted no one outside their number, and that even their trust in each other scraped the bare minimum of necessity.

"We are not forcing anything on you, Snape," Rookwood said, and Snape knew technically he was right. "And remember--the amount of immunity we are giving Mrs. Snape is something enormous, considering her crimes. We will even throw a job into the bargain: A position at the Office of Experimental Potions," he said condescendingly, as if this was some huge and undeserved prize.

Translation: Kiss your chances at the Office of Experimental Potions good-bye if you don't take this offer. Snape wondered how many of his job choices Rookwood could cut off. Would he be able to influence apothecaries or research institutes outside the Ministry?

"I need some time to think about this," he said, looking away. He hated feeling helpless, trapped. He had done everything he could never to feel that way again, yet here he was.

"By all means," the Unspeakable answered, very pleasantly. "You have a week. Remember the stakes here, and remember that this is a very valuable service you can render the magical community."

_Hell, and why would I _want_ to render valuable service?_ Snape said silently as he stood up. "Good-bye, then, Mr. Rookwood. I'll be certain to answer you within the designated time."

"Good-bye," Rookwood answered. "And it really is a shame about your brother, Mr. Snape."

Snape muttered something polite-sounding in response and walked out the door. He didn't want to stay in the room a moment longer than was necessary.

Once out in the hallways, of course, he was hopelessly lost. His head still buzzing with the recent conversation, he was wondering how the heck he could get out of this accursed building when he walked straight into a figure in navy blue robes and nearly fell back.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" The other man exclaimed as he caught Snape's shoulder to steady him. "Are you quite all right?"

Snape looked up. "Yes, quite. If you could tell me--" he started sharply, then paused at the look on the other wizard's face. The man looked as if he had seen something utterly impossible and horrifying. The look disappeared so abruptly Snape had to wonder if he had really seen it, and was replaced by shocked recognition.

"Snape," said the wizard. "Severus Snape?"

Snape looked at him. For a moment he did not recognize the face, though a vague dread stirred in the back of his mind; then suddenly it all came together: the good-natured face and brown hair, the navy blue robes, and the red-and-gold badge. The last time he had met the man was in an interrogation chamber; and there were few faces he felt less like seeing again.

Immediately, he staggered a step back. "Agent Longbottom." He forced the words from his lips, inclining his head stiffly.

Looking at him, Snape saw why he hadn't recognized the other man at once; besides the addition of the sunrise badge, Longbottom had changed--his face had lost its rounded boyish lines, becoming more angular and set, and white scars crossed his right eyebrow and left cheekbone. Yet the eyes, though harder and deeper-set, had that same warm glow they had held since his Hogwarts days--the same eyes he had seen when...he quickly clamped down on the recollection.

"I was...looking for the way out," said Snape. Inwardly he was praying Longbottom would not mention anything about the time they had last met, in the November of his sixth year when he had been...interrogated...by Aurors. Or worse, try to apologize.

"Oh!" Longbottom broke out of his dazed and confused look. "Go down this hallway and turn left at the second corner, then right at third. You'll find a stairway that leads down."

"Thank you." There was a moment or two of horribly awkward silence. They had so little ground for small talk it was ridiculous--Longbottom couldn't say he was sorry about Snape's family when they were responsible for five deaths just that day alone; Snape couldn't congratulate him on becoming an Auror without sounding bitter or sarcastic about Longbottom's failed attempt to save Snape from torture, when the former had said he would rather lose his career than let the torture go forward; neither could talk about the last time they had met without walking into a minefield.

"Well, I'd better get going, then. Good-bye, Agent Longbottom." Snape turned to go.

"Mr. Snape," called Longbottom.

"Yes?" Heart racing in half-fear, Snape looked at him without quite meeting his eyes.

"Congratulations for your graduation. I'm sorry it couldn't be a better day for you." The young Auror looked quite sincere about it, too.

_Seek, and ye shall find!_ Snape thought with an inward sneer. Trust someone as sickeningly decent as Longbottom to come up with _something_ in an impossible situation.

"Thank you," he replied with a smirk. "And I congratulate you, though belatedly, on your promotion. The Auror badge _quite_ becomes you." He turned his back on Longbottom's suddenly stony, rigid face and strode down the hall.

So Longbottom still blamed himself for failing to protect him against Redwood. Fool. What had there been for him to do? He had been a measly apprentice, while Redwood was his superior. Typical Gryffindor--always thinking they could, and should, set right every wrong in the world.

He stormed down the stairs into the lobby, and the wizard at the reception desk practically had to flag him down to return his wand. Snape shot him a murderous look before snatching it away without a word, and stalked to the double doors.

He stepped out of the cool building into the sun. The sunlight had shifted considerably since the time he had entered--it was well past noon. The graduation ceremony would be over by now.

He had missed it completely.

Severus wondered what it would have been like to receive his diploma in front of the entire student body, the professors, and the guests. At least five hundred, there would have been, and while not one of them would have really cared, it would have been something he would have been proud of. Something he had worked for and no one could deny him, no matter who he was or what anyone felt around him.

_You're pretty pathetic, Snape,_ he told himself. And suddenly it occurred to him that he could now call himself that without fear of confusion: As far as he knew, he was the only Snape in circulation in the wizarding world. The thought made him feel intensely alone, and somehow not quite as relieved as he thought he would be.

That brought him back to the business at hand, the only one left for him in London: He had to go to St. Mungo's where his brother's body was, and make arrangements for his burial. And no amount of self-mockery could goad him into facing that at the moment.

He turned heavy, weary steps toward a cafe across the road--glancing, without much interest, at the sign reading the The Gaelic Gale--entered a booth in the farthest corner, and ordered an Earl Grey. With the steaming cup before him he tried desperately to get the day's events to make some sense to him.

Strangely enough, he realized Rookwood's offer came as no big surprise to him. Ever since he had been betrayed by his family and then been tortured into betraying them right back, he had known something like this would happen. Known, through helpless misery and sleepless nights, no matter how much he tried to deny the knowledge--that he could not run forever from what he was, and that the world moved with a force stronger than any strength his willpower could muster. Forces like the Cruciatus Curse. Or the power of men who saw others only as means to an end. Or the power of a son's feelings for his mother...

He sank his forehead onto the heels of his hands, the fragrant fumes wafting up from his cup doing little to soothe his nerves. Images came to mind of the charred, twisted mayfly bodies he used to pick out of his reading lamp after a night of reading. _I haven't come that far yet,_ he reminded himself. _I can still refuse the offer._ A blank moment, then: _I'm a mayfly with brains._ That sounded bitter even in his head.

Then he remembered having to go to St. Mungo's Hospital and slumped onto the table, groaning into his arm. Why couldn't they have both gotten killed or both gotten arrested? It would make things so much simpler. But no, they had to split ways and cause him _two_ problems instead of one to deal with.

He was aware he was being callous, but he wasn't exactly a stranger to callousness. Without it, he would either have become a piteous sniveling wreck or gone mad.

Now that would be a sight, his mother and himself locked side by side in the insanity ward at St. Mungo's--except, he realized, she wouldn't be in St. Mungo's in that case. She would be in Azkaban.

He was thankfully distracted by that train of thought by the smart click of high heels. At first he thought it was the waitress, but the clicks entered the booth next to the one he was in. He heard a bustling of robes behind his back as someone settled into the seat. The partition between booths was too high for him to see who had entered even if he turned his head, but he guessed it was a young woman.

Whatever. He couldn't sit here all day and wish it would somehow go away. He had to get moving, and get Septimius' corpse out of the way. _Yes,_ corpse, he thought. _Because Septimius is _dead. _No matter how hard you find that to believe, your big bad brother, who cheated basic human morals, the Ministry, and magical law, couldn't cheat death in the end._ Well, all he had to do was go see. There were few things in the world more concrete than the sight of a pale cold corpse. He raised himself from his chair, took a silent step to exit the booth--

And then snapped back to the seat, quickly as a coiled spring and just as silently. He couldn't believe it. What was Frank Longbottom doing here? He nearly hyperventilated before he managed to convince himself that Longbottom probably hadn't seen him, as he was just coming in the door and was looking the other way. He heard the Auror's voice friendly voice greet the man at the counter and then, to his horror, he heard distinct footsteps approach. Then they sounded just behind his back, entering the booth that the high heels had. Now how was he going to get to the door without Longbottom seeing him and causing more awkward moments?

"Hullo, Diane," said Longbottom's voice, sounding almost solemn.

"Hi, Frank." The voice that greeted him was indeed a young woman's, low and light. There was a pause as several more footsteps sounded and robes rustled.

"You look tired," the woman said. The concern in her voice was something more than friendly, and Snape didn't have to be a genius to figure out why she had chosen such a private (or so she thought) booth for this meeting.

"I'm all right." Longbottom sounded even more miserable as he said this. Snape wondered if he was trying to be crowned World's Worst Liar or something.

The two in the next booth ordered tea and tried to make conversation. Evidently they had originally planned to join the Gryffindors' graduation festivities, but the events that came up in the morning had kept Agent Longbottom far too busy, allowing him to scrounge up barely an hour to see the girl. He kept trying to apologize for that, and she kept saying it was all right, while Snape was planning his escape. With luck, he thought, he might slip out unnoticed or Longbottom might not bother trying to talk to him.

"All right, Frank," the girl said suddenly after a particularly awkward pause. "Out with it."

Or, Snape thought as he kept a halfhearted ear on the conversation, he might just Disapparate. He just could not face Longbottom again under the circumstances.

"With what?" Longbottom asked stupidly.

Apparate out--yeah. That would make good headlines. Dead Death Eater's Brother Flees Restaurant Without Paying for Tea.

"About what's eating you, Frank! You're not yourself today." The girl sounded exasperated.

No, he would just walk out. And if Longbottom tried to accost him, he'd just give him the cold shoulder. He wasn't afraid of the rookie Auror or the things he reminded him of.

There was a long pause in the next booth. Snape decided he'd make his exit when conversation started anew, since their voices would partly cover the sound of his getting up and leaving.

"Diane, I--" Snape put a foot out from under the table and started tensing his muscles to rise. "I just met the brother of the man I killed today."

This took a heartbeat to register. When it sank in, Snape froze completely in his half-sitting, half-standing pose.

In the next booth, the girl said nothing for a moment. Then, predictably, she said very confusedly, "What?"

_Hopefully not what I think it is._ Snape sank into his seat a second time.

"Do you remember Severus Snape, the Slytherin boy--"

"Oh, him." After that, neither spoke for several moments. When the girl spoke again her voice was very low and gentle.

"I've told you before, Frank--you can't blame yourself for what happened that night. Redwood was--is--a very determined man, and you were only on probation. You could have faced derobement or court-martial for insubordination if Redwood hadn't first forced you out of the chamber. You did all you could."

"I know." Longbottom sounded hoarse, unconvinced.

Diane sighed lightly. "And what's this about the man you killed?"

"You know about the attack this morning, on the mixed wizard-Muggle grad party preparation," Longbottom began heavily. There was a short pause the length of a nod, and the Auror went on. "Snape's brother, Septimius Snape, was among the Death Eaters at the scene."

"What happened?" She asked in her low voice.

"We burst in--though it was already too late for the Johanssens and the Prescotts--" Longbottom sounded bitter at this--"and Mad-Eye and I stood between several Death Eaters and the survivors. I came face to face with Snape--Septimius Snape. After a few exchanges he must have thought he could finish me easily enough. I had encountered him before, and back then I had barely escaped with my life."

There was a brief pause, then Diane said quietly, "I remember that time."

Longbottom gave a dry laugh. "I hardly do, except the reminders I see in the mirror. I had been knocked out cold for days."

"And I was the one who had to sit by your bedside, wondering if you'd ever--" the girl stopped her rush of words, took a deep breath. "So what happened this morning?"

Longbottom sounded uncomfortable when he began again. "It just happened so quickly. He stepped forward and began to speak the Killing Curse. I couldn't think of anything, it was all happening too fast, so I hurled a Reductor Curse, to distract him or drive him back...but he didn't step back, and the curse struck him on an artery in the neck. After the battle was over we discovered he had bled to death during the confusion."

And as he listened, Severus could finally believe that Septimius had died. Longbottom's account had the reality that Stebbins' simple explanation, "excessive loss of blood," did not. Septimius, dead of his own underestimation of an enemy and a simple, elementary, _legal_ Reductor Curse--it was so unlikely that it had to be true.

"Frank." The girl's voice came very gently, more of a soothing sound than a word.

"I--I don't regret what I did," Longbottom continued. "If anyone deserved to die, men like him certainly did. I tried to put it out of my mind. And then I met the man's brother in the hall, just now, and..." his voice sank almost to a whisper. "I thought I was seeing the dead man again. For a split second I was so afraid...then I realized it was Severus Snape, not Septimius Snape, and that somehow made it even worse." his voice cracked slightly.

"No, Frank, don't do that to yourself--" the girl's voice was hushed but anguished, and Severus was astonished that she actually seemed to be feeling the pain more keenly than Longbottom was.

"He was a man, just like any other," gasped out Longbottom. "He had family, people who loved him, look just like him, and--" his voice was muffled but steady when he spoke again after a short span of time. "I know it's something I had to do, and it is the innocent lives that were lost today that I mourn, not his. But what frightens me, Diane, is that the second man I kill, or the third, might cease to mean anything to me--that I might be able to kill men, men who are just like me, without feeling anything."

"Like Agent Redwood," Diane stated, her voice low but certain. Longbottom said nothing but she went on, "No, Frank, you will never become anything like Redwood or Crouch. And don't give me that doubtful look," she added. "I know it because of the pain you feel. Don't you think I feel it, too? Frank Longbottom, I know you. You became an Auror because you wanted to save lives. Life can be destructive as well as benign, and you accept that. It's how you can appreciate the value of even the lives of men like Snape."

_That's either the _late _Snape or Septimius Snape for you,_ Snape thought with a scowl. He realized he had been listening riveted to every word, and mentally shook himself.

"And that's how I know," she continued softly, "that you won't lose yourself to the Dark while you think you're fighting it, as I've seen too many people do."

"Oh God, Diane." Longbottom took a long breath as if he had not breathed for hours, and Snape could hear him choke.

"It's all right, Frank," Severus heard the unshed tears in her voice as well. "It's all right..."

Some silent minutes passed, during which Snape stared down at his tea and absently fingered the completely cold porcelain of the cup. A strange mixture of thoughts and emotions roiled around in his head, not one of which he could sort out after the long and confusing day.

After a while Longbottom suddenly spoke again. He spoke in the kind of voice one used when screwing up every dredge of courage one possessed to do something desperate, like jump over a cliff. "Diane, I'm afraid I might never have the courage again if I didn't--now--I mean--I'd...please. Here." Snape heard robes rustle and a small click as something small was set down on the table.

"What is it, Frank?"

"Open it."

There was a small snap, something like a small case being snapped open. "Oh!" The girl sounded completely bewildered.

"Will you--accept it?" Longbottom didn't seem to be breathing anymore: Severus wondered how long he could hold his breath without passing out. He also thought that there should be a law against such trite romantic situations.

"Oh, but I--I mean, I can't!" Diane burst out.

"Y-you can't?" The Auror said faintly. Snape had never heard such a strange mixture of absolute disappointment and relief in the same voice.

"I mean," she said quickly, "I'm sure it'll be very useful and all, and I appreciate the thought, but I'm sure it's not allowed..."

When he finally did speak up, Longbottom sounded thoroughly mystified. "What?"

"You can't give me your hand-held motion detector! It's Ministry issue!"

There was a loud crash in the adjoining booth and some muttered, very unintelligible words. Snape clapped a hand to his forehead and thought, _Now who's the shame to the family name? You actually got yourself killed by _that_ bumbling fool, Septimius?_

After things had settled down a bit, he could hear the girl Diane's voice again. "Let me ask you one thing. Was it a ring you were originally going to give me?"

"Yeah." An embarrassed, miserable mumble. Then a chair scraped back as Longbottom stood up. "Uh, my time is almost up. I'd better--"

"Frank Longbottom, you will sit down _right_ this second." She sounded sharper than Snape could have thought she was capable of. He heard Longbottom seat himself, meekly. Then he tried to speak. "Diane--"

"Frank, I don't want to go into the propose-to-me-or-I'll-hex-you routine too many relationships fall into, but this is ridiculous. I've seen you wanting to ask for so long and holding back--and today, you actually scrape up the courage then lose it all just because of a silly mistake! Just what are you afraid of?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was afraid of commitment?" Snape listened with mixed amusement and surprise--the Auror who, as a mere apprentice, had stood up to his superior under danger of career loss or even court-martial, who had faced the followers of the Dark Lord and who laughed off a close brush with death itself, now sounded dry-throated, terrified before this (normally) mild-mannered young witch.

"I swear, I _will_ hex you if you lie to me like that." Diane sounded like she was gritting her teeth together.

"Diane, you know there's nothing I want more than for you do be my wife." The very intensity of the words and the rush of emotions behind it left no possible doubt about his sincerity. "But I just can't ask you. How could I be so selfish?"

"How can it be selfish," her voice was shaking now, "when there's nothing _I_ would want more?"

"Because--because I'm an Auror. Because you'll watch me growing wearier every day under the weight of the horrors I face, and you'll look at me every morning and wonder if you'll see me again in the evening, and because you...you could become a target...you know what they're capable..." the raw pain rasped in his voice, and for a moment the only sound that came from the next booth was Longbottom's labored breathing. "Diane, I'm not the right one for you." He sounded like a man reading out his own death sentence. "You need someone who can make you happier, someone who can keep you safer."

The words that came next came softly and tremulously, yet there was a firmness in them, a power that came from complete truth and unafraid honesty. "No, I don't. What I need is _you._"

A moment or two later, Snape stood up without worrying about the noise: The nature of the silence coming from the adjoining booth told him that the two would take no notice if the entire restaurant blew up around them. Restraining a strange urge to give that thought a test, he walked past the booth with a sidelong glance at the young couple locked in a passionate embrace, to the counter where he paid for his untouched Earl Grey, then out the door.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, after Apparating to St. Mungo's and being led by an expressionless nurse along sterile white halls, he was looking down at his dead brother's remains. He drew back the white sheet and saw where the Reductor Curse had gotten him. It was not even a very large wound, just a rather deep cut next to his Adam's apple. Hard to believe a life had drained away through a cut like that, all over the floor, while the chaos of a battle raged all around...Severus closed his eyes briefly against the image, then opened them again. 

Septimius Snape had always been a sallow man, but now he looked deathly pale, leaden, as a corpse should. Yet with his eyes closed and his face quiet, he looked more peaceful than Severus could remember seeing him in a long time. Peaceful as when he had slept as a child, long ago.

Why was it that one saw the worst in people while they still lived and remembered the best of them when they died--it would have been so much easier if it were the other way around. For at that moment, he didn't remember the increasingly distant brother who went off to a foreign school and never visited or wrote, or the cruel and arrogant man who seemed to have only ambition and fanaticism where most men had souls. Instead, Severus remembered the big brother who had huddled with him after their father's death, all through their mother's mad outpourings of grief and rage, the boy whose shoulders had shook with the silent tears he kept back to comfort his little brother.

_Where did it all go wrong?_ he wondered, in the silent cry that too many people standing in the wreck of what used to be family had uttered.

_Where, you ask?_ Said an insidious voice from the back of his head. _Perhaps some point back where Dear Departed Dad decided to take what looked like the fast lane to power. Or maybe where his dad before him did. Or his dad before that. Bad blood, don't you think?_

Blood, thought Severus as he looked down at his brother's pallid face. It was easy see why Longbottom had thought he was seeing the man he killed when they ran into each other in the hall--during the time he had not seen Septimius he had grown to Septimius' height, and on the dead man's face Severus recognized the high brow, the hooked nose, the gaunt and shadowed cheeks, the set of the mouth...all from his own mirror, resemblances that had not been so striking only a year and a half ago.

_Neither can you run from what you are. You can only fight it, if you have the strength. _

In a sudden incensed movement, Snape threw the cover back over the face of the corpse with such force that the bed shook. "I'd like to make the funeral arrangements now," he said, turning to the coroner who stood over another bed, the stiff black robes of his office a stark contrast against the white of the surroundings.

The coroner looked up mildly, conjured a clipboard and quill, and nodded.

"I want him cremated. And as soon as possible," Snape added through clenched teeth. _In fact, right here and now would be just fine. As long as I won't have to look at that face again._

* * *

It was well past sunset when he Apparated into Hogsmeade. Cheerful lights blinked in the warm summer darkness and people passed him on the streets, but the mood seemed remarkably subdued considering the occasion. _Looks like the they did a good job scaring people, at least,_ he thought sourly. 

He walked aimlessly down the streets, and suddenly noticed there seemed to be an unusual amount of noise coming from somewhere up ahead. He looked up and realized it came from the Three Broomsticks.

_Slytherins?_ He wondered as he hurried forward. They were the only ones who could conceivably be out after dark, after what had happened in the morning...

He caught sight of the people inside through a window, and immediately he flattened himself against a wall next to the open window by which, thankfully, no one was sitting. The people celebrating inside most emphatically were not Slytherins. The interior of the entire pub was decorated in red and gold, and floating candles cast cheery glimmers of golden light to every corner of the pub. Fairy lights floated gently among the lion banners, their delicate tints of color shifting constantly.

"Today is a day for celebration," James Potter was saying, standing up before his table at the center of the room. "Of joy and hopes for the future. Yet Lord Voldemort--" general wincing all around, all except the small circle at Potter's own table--"has distorted even the spirit of celebration and reconciliation into terrible losses and abject terror."

Snape supposed he should be getting on his way to find the Slytherins, but decided to stay a bit. He wanted to see what the Gryffindors were up to, and who knew, he might find out something useful. He noticed Sirius Black was not in sight, nor was the ever-faithful Pettigrew. He would have to keep alert, since it would _not_ be pleasant to have Black appear suddenly behind his back...

"In the face of such tragedy, on our last day at Hogwarts and first as full-fledged wizards, let us remember that no matter what the Dark Lord does to undermine it, the spirit of tolerance and friendship will never be quenched. Nor will hope, love, or light. We will never be defeated as long as we take heart, and face each new day with hope of victory."

_Nice try, Potter,_ Snape sneered to himself during the short but charged pause that followed. _But it doesn't quite work if you don't have a flowing white beard. Should consider growing one if you're so determined to be Dumbledore's lapdog._ He had half a mind to curse one onto him when there was a scraping sound as someone else stood up--Lily Evans. Her face was solemn, and an intense light shone in her eyes. "To the Prescotts," she said steadily, raising her cup. The Gryffindors repeated the salute to the late Muggle couple who, as Snape understood, were the parents of some Ravenclaw who was also a graduate.

Snape felt his lips curling in disgust as Remus Lupin, the Gryffindor resident werewolf as he thought of him, rose as well. "To the Johanssens," he said, cup upraised. The couple who had died defending the Prescotts were acknowledged accordingly.

Indira Kaur also stood up and raised her cup "To Malachy O'Leary," the Hit Wizard who had been killed in the skirmish with the Death Eaters.

The Gryffindors quaffed their cups, and at Evans' suggestion observed a moment of silence for Voldemort's five latest victims. Slightly subdued, they were talking among themselves when a loud explosion and multicolored sparks came from the direction of the kitchen. A moment later, Sirius Black--who else?--appeared, levitating an enormous cake before him. It was a culinary marvel, with nine sumptuous layers, icing that was multicolored as if a ton of confetti had been sprinkled over the surface, rows of cream topping that cascaded from layer to layer, and candles whose flames crackled and sparked madly in red, blue, green, purple... Snape was forcefully reminded that he had touched nothing since breakfast.

"So, letting Moldywarts spoil our party, are we?" Mock-roared Black as he lowered the gargantuan dessert onto a low, flat pedestal that suddenly appeared on the floor. "We can't have that! Right, Peter?" In answer another set of firecrackers went off, this time announcing the entrance of a nervous-looking but laughing Madam Rosmerta surrounded by floating trays laden with drinks. Cheers erupted all around as she waved her wand to distribute them.

Potter clapped a hand to his forehead in mock despair. "Thus sayeth Padfoot, in whose eyes there is no greater crime than party-pooping."

"Let's see how you're complaining, Head Boy, after you've had a taste of Madam Rosmerta's mulled mead," retorted Black, winking at the pub's owner, who smiled back and gave a wave of her wand to send a cup of the drink into his hand.

Putting down his cup after a swig, Black leapt on top of the table where Potter and his cronies sat. "Okay, everyone, I now announce--party night!" He spread his arms and spun slowly around on his place on top of the table as the Gryffindors broke into applause and cheers. "Of course, not before I finish my speech," he added, and ducked wadded up balls of parchment and a rotten tomato someone had conjured.

"I'd like to speak briefly about the people taken from us today," continued Black, and suddenly there was dead quiet in the room. And Snape had to admit, Black had talent. _All the makings of a rabble-rouser, certainly,_ he thought.

"The Prescotts were two of the most supportive and open-minded people I ever met." Black's voice was low, yet every word could be heard over the stillness within the pub, all the way to the uninvited visitor standing outside the open window. "Our kind, to them, were no freaks or oddments. They embraced their daughter Jeannie's world as part of their own, a whole new world of wonder and beauty. The Death Eaters brought them their deaths out of the very world Dawn and Ryan embraced with such open arms, and for that, they will pay." At this Black's face darkened and for a moment the very air seemed to grow heavier with pulsing anger, deep and dark. Snape noticed that Evans looked particularly moved, her eyes glimmers of light, and wondered if the Mudblood was thinking of her own parents.

"Morgan and Muriel Johanssen loved life with a vigor that I will never forget," Black continued, in a gentler tone. "Just as they loved their own lives they loved the lives of others--and, as we have seen today, they were capable of giving their own lives so that others might live. We will forever remember them, as will the twins Lex and Larissa Johanssen. May their memory rest with us to inspire and guide us in the fight ahead." Again his pale eyes flashed in his tanned face, and the room hung onto his every word.

_So they're suddenly all so perfect, are they?_ Snape thought. _In death, they suddenly seem such saints and angels, don't they. Did they have no faults, errors, regrets? Or don't those matter anymore, since they're dead?_

_Won't the things Septimius has done not matter anymore, since he's dead..._

"And Malachy O'Leary." Black paused, as if unable to go on. Snape, though distracted, heard the small catch in the Gryffindor boy's voice as he continued. "Malachy was one of the bravest people I knew. He truly had the spirit of a lion, and his energy never seemed to flag or wane. Hey," he said with a forced laugh, "he could out-party and out-prank me, which is saying a lot." There were gentle laughter and murmured agreements around the room, lightening the mood somewhat. "He lived with courage, and humor, and boundless energy. When he died, he was defending innocent lives, and even then he would not go down alone." There were approving murmurs at this statement: O'Leary had taken three Death Eaters with him before he finally fell.

"I still find it hard to believe he is gone," Black continued in a lower voice. "But I will struggle to accept it, and to ensure that he will not have died in vain. There will come a time of reckoning for the innocent blood spilled today and on many days before this--and, though we will all strive to prevent it, days after this."

_Hypocrite,_ Snape thought as he shot Black a venomous glare. _You froth at the mouth about killing people after what you tried to do to me last year? Too high-minded to do it yourself, were you, you planned to have your filthy werewolf friend do the dirty work for you..._ Hot and bitter anger rose up inside him and he felt his fingers twitch, wanting to grab his wand and curse Black to pieces.

"Our blackest rage goes to those who dared take them from us--yet, in the end, they could not take them from us, the Prescotts, the Johanssens, and Malachy. No act of violence, no revolting attempt at terrorizing us can take their memory from us, for they live inside us now, their spirits shining brighter and stronger than ever before. And that is why we cannot lose this war, though we may face the most evil wizard the world has seen. It takes more than the killings, more than the acts of terror to make us lose hope. And hope, our greatest weapon against the fear and darkness rampant today, will live within us as long as we won't let anyone take it from us."

Still trying to calm himself, it was a moment or two before Snape realized there was no applause. Then he noticed several people wiping tears from their eyes. Evans was not weeping but her eyes were overbright, and she clung very close to Potter, who did not seem to mind the chance for the contact himself.

_Oh great,_ Snape thought, rolling his eyes. _A Gryffindor cry-fest. I'm going to be treated to the sight of Gryffindors bawling their eyes out._

"And that," Sirius Black said in a lighter tone that nevertheless sounded just as fierce somehow, "is why we're going to have the granddaddy of all parties here tonight. Voldemort, yeah, _Voldemort,_ that's not a four-letter word, is it? He might think he has us scared--but it takes more tricks than he's got up his slimy sleeves to scare _us_. That said, let's PARTY!"

On cue, firecrackers went up at once all over the room, showering everyone with colorful sparks and various items--one of the firecrackers exploded right before Black's nose, Gobstones and Chocolate Frogs smacking him in the face. Startled, he lost balance and fell backwards--right toward the nine-layered cake he had brought in.

"No, the cake!" Evans yelled, and Potter quickly raised his wand. "_Penderus!_" He shouted, and Black came to a halt midair just before hitting the cake.

"Oh, thank you, James," Black breathed as Potter moved his wand to maneuver Black away from the cake. "I don't know how long Lily and I worked on that thing--to surprise you all, you know. Now if you'll just--James?" Potter, with a mischievous grin, had given his wand a playful spin instead of easing Black down to the ground. Black spun around in the air while still hanging horizontally several feet above the floor, an extremely foolish look on his face. "Hey, James! Let me down."

In answer Potter waved his wand around, giving it an occasional spin, causing Black to float around the room, twirling like a sluggish, oversized baton. "That's for upstaging the Head Boy, Sirius," he called lazily as the room swelled with laughter.

"Lily, help! Madam Rosmerta! Indy! James, come on, put me down. Remus, you dog!" Everyone Black called to was overcome with laughter as he continued his aerial journey around the room, flailing and howling all the way.

"I'll help you, Sirius!" Little Peter Pettigrew burst out of the kitchens where he had no doubt been working the firecrackers, and pointed his wand eagerly at his hero. "_Finite incatato!_"

The cancel spell wasn't quite as effective as it should have been, for Black continued flying on course for a few more seconds--then suddenly shot off in another angle altogether, falling towards the--

SPLAT.

"AWWW!" A collective groan went up as Sirius Black was buried in the surprise cake, only face, hands, and feet sticking out of the jumble of icing and cream and the soft, succulent-looking insides.

"Whoops," came Pettigrew's small voice. "Sorry."

"Oh, I'm sure it's all right, Peter," said Black airily, his voice somewhat muffled with all the icing. He swallowed and said, "You've done the collective waistline of the ladies present a great service indeed..."

"Oh yeah?" Evans stalked up to him, eyes flashing. Black cowered, and tried to pull free of the ruins of the cake. Her face broke into a mischievous grin all too familiar to Snape. "Well, as long as you're not too worried about your own waistline..." And she scooped up a large chunk of cake and squashed it into Black's face.

Immediately the room erupted into action. "Cake fight!" Shouted Potter as he flung a piece across the room, catching a hapless sixth year on the nose. Everyone stampeded to the center of the room to grab chunks of the cake. Eventually Black came free as the whole thing was dismantled around him and joined in with a gusto, looking like a walking mountain of frosting.

Outside, Snape shook his head in disbelief. He just couldn't understand those Gryffindors--he certainly didn't know how the Sorting Hat could have ever considered putting him there. Weeping one moment and laughing the next, foolishly defiant in the face of impossible odds, yet joyful and crazy even in defiance, instead of becoming cold and warlike as a Slytherin would.

Silently he watched the mayhem taking place, the participants of the mock battle bathed in the flooding light and bits of cake, as the air cooled and the evening deepened around him. He knew his eyes kept being drawn to one person in the room, and he knew it was like tearing open the hardened scar of an old, old wound. Her vibrant laughter drifted out to where he stood. Flushed and laughing, she ducked the pieces thrown her way, ember-colored hair flying. She paused to fish a squeaking (fake) white mouse out of her cup, took a long drink, then snuck behind Pettigrew to drop a handful of cake bits down his back.

_I let you go so you could be happy._ Severus found himself unable to stop the thoughts any more than he could stop the rush of emotions pent up for too long. _And you are happy, happier than I could have hoped._ Potter had suddenly picked up his girlfriend, whirling her around in the air for no evident reason, and Black started walking around with a wizard hat as the two broke into fevered embrace and kissing right in the middle of the room. "Ten Sickles per view, no minors peeking!" He called, holding the hat like a collection box. "Fund drive for more butterbeer! Ten Sickles per view!"

"_Sirius!_" Lily came up breathless, eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy. "Stop it!" She tried to grab at Black, who pretended to be trying to grab her right back.

"Now she wants a stint with me! Here, James, you hold the hat while I--"

"Shut _up_, Sirius." Potter took the now coin-filled hat from his sidekick and hit him over the head with it, causing a small cascade of silver coins to fall to the floor. "Madam Rosmerta!" He called over the noise in the room, holding up the hat. "Do we have enough for butterbeer?"

"Sure thing, James," the witch gasped back, tears still running down her face from laughing so hard.

Severus looked in through the brightly lit window at what he could never be a part of--real companionship, joy and mourning and celebration and defiance all in a jumble of something fiercely and poignantly _alive_, each red-and-gold banner, each peal of laughter, each wild snatch of song seeming to proclaim they would never be defeated. They did not live to fight, they fought so that they and those that came after them may have a chance at life.

_One thing I did right,_ he said silently as he watched her raise her cup of foaming golden butterbeer, cheering, surrounded by friends, with Potter by her side. _I was right to let you go. I know nothing about the future, but I guess I knew one thing, all along. You should stand always in light, hope, love--because you _are_ all that. You never did belong with me, in my life of shadow and doubt...and now, if I so choose, of violence and darkness. _

_If I so choose._

Inside the Three Broomsticks he could see the Gryffindors settling down a bit more, nursing their butterbeer and talking. She was smiling, the tangled glow of her hair spilling over Potter's shoulder, teasing Lupin about something.

_Severus, I am never leaving you._ He remembered the words, suddenly, with a pang. The moment Lily had said those words he had known he may wonder for the rest of his life just how much she had meant them. Now he found himself wondering again, about all the what-ifs and might-have-beens, worthless but unavoidable speculations.

She had also told him, when he had confessed to killing a man under the Imperius Curse, that it was not his fault. He supposed it was not his fault that his family had become Death Eaters, or that his mother had been arrested, or that the Ministry wanted to make a deal with him to keep her out of Azkaban.

Well, he was sick of things not being his fault. And as he watched her lean her cheek on her fist and laugh gently, as he had so often seen her do, something finally snapped inside him like a long-enduring bone. If anything ever happened in his life again, he would take every measure to see that it _would_ be his fault. His choice. No one would ever tell him it was not his fault, that he was a pathetic little boy dragged into something he never wanted to be a part of.

Besides, if he knew about the horrific aspects of the Dark, he also knew well what it had to offer him. If there were some things he could not have in life no matter how much he longed for them, he damn well wasn't about to settle for nothing.

Snape looked up into the dark sky of late evening, lit by the light of the moon but not bright enough. It would never be bright enough. He realized that he would have to go now. Staring hungrily into a bright display window changed nothing, neither himself or the night all around.

_Just remember,_ he thought as he turned from the window. _It was my choice to have you leave me. No one can take that much from me. And I was right, Lily--I was right. Good-bye again, forever this time._

"What the--" he suddenly heard Lily's voice and quickly flattened himself to the wall again, wondering if he had been seen. She was still seated at the table, but was looking up with a perplexed expression.

"What is it, Lily?" Potter asked.

"I don't know." She sounded bewildered and almost upset. "I felt the strangest--"

Black looked up sharply, right toward the window by which Snape stood hidden. "There's someone there," Black said harshly, and Snape wasted no more time. As quietly as he could, he rushed away from the light spilling out of the window of the Three Broomsticks, around a corner and into another alley.

Not a moment too soon--a door crashed open, and Black's voice shouted "_Petrificus totalus!_" Snape saw a ray of blue bounding off the corner he had just turned.

"Sirius!" It was the werewolf's voice as he ran up, slightly out of breath. "What's going on?"

"I saw someone standing by the window," Black said. Snape checked to see that he had not entered a lane that was a dead end, then kept his attention at both ends, not wanting to be surprised.

"Who did it look like?"

"I don't know. School robes, it seemed. Could have been Snape sneaking around again--" _Very astute, Black!_ Thought Snape as he edged toward the opposite end of the alleyway, careful not to make a noise and keeping to the shadows. His wand was at the ready.

"But the ward Professor Dumbledore set assures that no one hostile could approach, and we'd be alerted of any attempt at approach by people of hostile intent." More levelheaded as always, Lupin's voice sounded quiet but certain.

"It's never been tested, though." Black said darkly. "Couldn't exactly ask Old Voldie to come over to see if he could get through, could we?"

So not even the Gryffindors were complete idiots. They had taken precautions. He had to wonder how Dumbledore defined "hostile intentions," though. Twice he had had every intention of cursing two of them through the window, yet the alarm had not worked.

"Look, Sirius." Lupin's voice came again, and Snape heard their footfalls stop. "We're safest inside the Three Broomsticks. I trust Professor Dumbledore. Coming out into town after what happened was risky enough--it's not a good idea to be wandering without protection in the streets at night."

_True,_ thought Snape, his hand closing convulsively around his wand. _If you had been alone I'd already have hexed you._ As it were, he could surprise and take on one of them, but not two--and he certainly couldn't face the horde or angry Gryffindors that would come pouring out.

"All right," Black said grudgingly. "Let's get back inside."

"Yeah, people must be thinking you're mental," teased Lupin. "Prongs is going to put on some music. Says you need a good dance to get the jumpiness out of your system..." The voices grew indistinguishable, then inaudible as a door closed.

Snape let out a long breath. Now to go find his fellow Slytherins. The Gryffindors were out in town because they were stupid; the Slytherins would be, too, because they were safe.

As he set off down the alley, he heard cheerful music coming from the direction he had come from, slowly fading away as he walked deeper into the dark streets.

* * *

He was a little nervous about the prospects of telling the Slytherins his final decision, but at least he had a story they would believe. Septimius turned out to be of _some_ use to him now that he was dead. He would tell Rookwood tomorrow, and Lestrange or one of the others would contact the Death Eaters for him. It was a precarious position, perhaps not exactly the condition he would have hoped for, but he would find ways of using both sides to his advantage. 

Before long the streets he walked were completely quiet, with fewer lights. Coming to the Hog's Head he opened the door and stood blinking for a few moments, eyes unadjusted to the dark interior lit only by the low fire going against the slight chill of the night, the occasional sputtering lamp and tallow candles on the tables.

"Severus," someone called over the murmur of conversation in the room, and he looked around to see Mei-lin's figure lit by the redness of the fire. He could see the other members of the gang gathered round the fireside table as well. He ordered his drink and made his way over to the table.

"We heard about your mother and brother, Severus," Lestrange said in a low voice. "My condolences."

"Thanks, Alan," Snape replied, nursing his cup.

"I really don't know what to say," said Jin. "All the comfort I can offer is that your brother fell in the fight for the cause--and your mother, when Azkaban is broken open, will be rewarded beyond her wildest dreams." Snape stared for a bit--he thought he had gotten used to Mei-lin's fanaticism, but the look of near envy in her eyes frightened him.

"Do you know who did it?" Rosier asked.

"Some greenhorn Auror called Longbottom," said Snape, careful to curl his lips back and make his eyes fill with hatred. He seemed to have succeeded a little too well, for there was silence around the table for a few moments.

"Do not brood over it, Severus," said Mei-lin, the only one not looking remotely uncomfortable. "Perhaps," she went on, slowly and smoothly, "someday you will have your revenge."

Something in her tone of voice made a chill go down Severus' spine. "Thank you, Mei-lin," he said calmly, but somehow the fire seemed to give him very little warmth.

"He was a Gryffindor, wasn't he?" Avery spoke up.

"Yes, quite chummy with Potter and his henchmen," Snape said. "Why?"

"Oh, we were talking about their being out in town tonight," Avery said in a jeering voice. "Can you believe it, after what happened this morning? Looks like some people can't learn their lessons at all."

"So we're thinking of going down to give them a revision," smirked Rosier. "How about it, Severus?"

"No," Snape said flatly. "And I wouldn't advise any of you to go, either."

No one spoke. Then Avery said, "Oh, I understand, Severus. The loss of your brother, I see, has--ah--affected you..."

"Do you call me a coward?" Snape asked in a silky low voice.

Only the fire crackled over the tense silence. "We would like your reasons, Severus." Even Mei-lin sounded slightly cautious, and this pleased Snape.

"For your information, the Gryffindors are not as defenseless as they seem. The Old Fool has put wards around the Three Broomsticks that will alarm them to the approach of anyone hostile, and keeps enemies out."

"I see," said Lestrange. He sounded thoughtful. "And how do you know all this, Severus?"

"I have my ways of knowing. Do you doubt me?" The question hung in the air, then dissipated slowly into the uneasy lull in conversation.

"The Old Fool and his pet Gryffindors," Wilkes said disgustedly. "I'd like to face those overbearing Muggle-lovers without the Old Fool interfering for once."

_As if you were their match in a duel, except maybe Pettigrew's. Boasting, insubstantial braggart._ "I agree," said Severus. "I would most definitely want a chance." He put on the cruel, vindictive look again, frighteningly familiar to his face already.

He went on, his voice little more than a whisper, "I would like to know how to contact them."

Vague as this sounded, the meaning was not lost to the people present.

"I'll contact them," Lestrange said quietly. "Welcome to the fold, Severus."

As easy as that. So they bought his performance about Septimius' death. Snape was subjected to handshakes all around, and in the sharp relief of black gloom and red fire-glow their smiles seemed to him not smiles but grimaces of pain..._Out of it, Snape,_ he thought.

"As a rule, the followers are supposed to know as few of each other as possible," said Lestrange as they settled back in their chairs. "And it's quite likely we'll be contacted separately--but _we_ know one another."

"A built-in advantage," Rosier said exultantly.

"It'll give us the edge in information and influence," Avery added, eyes glittering shrewdly.

_Right up until we've outlived our usefulness for each other,_ Snape added silently. _Then we play mistrust-and-betray._

"I propose a toast," said Wilkes, raising his cup. "To us," he said.

"To the future," intoned Rosier.

"To success," said Avery.

"To the fallen," Mei-lin said solemnly.

Snape could feel glances coming his way, but ignored them. He wasn't about to toast Mother or Septimius even to keep up the act.

"To the New Order," Lestrange said with ceremony, "that will rise from the ashes of the old--and to He who will erect it."

"To the New Order," they all said, and brought their cups to their lips.

_Yes,_ thought Snape. _To power. Wealth. Knowledge. And damnation._ And as he threw his head back and drank, every shadow--lurking in every corner, looming above into the ceiling, pooling around their feet--burned black, blacker than the gathering night outside.

the end-


End file.
